And it's a bit too late, now, for teenaged insecurities and changing in the bathroom. It's a bit too late to become an adult bulimic or a red wine alcoholic. It's a bit too late, but you've missed it somehow even though you go over and over it in your head and can't quite pinpoint where it went. And yet the hands you love so much that firmly grasp your weakened shoulders to push you away are real - they're there and the intent is clear even though your head feels fuzzy.
And so why, then, is everything around me settled? Why are there weddings, and babies and dining room sets and living room carpets and fridges bought on credit and loveseats paid in full?
