I'm so twenty ten.

Over the past month I’ve grown accustom to this new skin. I’ve been letting my hair grow long, and found the sense in catching its wave in the tie of headband. I’ve been tugging a belt too long toward a knife-made hole and patching the soles of my shoes with the nearest spool of tape. I see the narrow space between productivity and resourcefulness.

I’ve been laughing at the shadow, cast in a brand new maturity, that graces my face at the end of each day and let it rest on the smile of my cheekbone until I itch like a child to be young again. And perhaps in it’s own little way, spread thin across this boy’s complexion, a twenty ounce bottle of shaving cream has become the only fountain of youth I need.

The greatest lesson I took from that van is that age is so god dam relative.