I think it has taken this long for the seriousness of all this to dawn on me. People often comment that I look younger than I am and I do. There is something about my smooth skin and slouching pose and delicate hands that flutter like moths, that does not betray my nearly three decades. But inside I am older, the smoke of half my life churning through blood vessels, choking vitality and coating my thoughts with dusty shadows. I can't hide my inside from the outside for very much longer, so I will have to repair it. Clean it out, air it, give it a new coat of paint, flesh out the half-life to give it substance that other people can see.