I wish I’d lived a life truer to myself. If I could go back in time and throw out every fake mustache I owned, I would. Even the smart-mouthed sheriff one. They were no better at helping me express who I was than my prosthetic noses.
I didn’t stop to smell the roses enough. If I’m being honest with myself, there were other things I didn’t smell enough. If I’m really being honest, I could have licked more stuff too.
I regret not keeping in touch with old friends. Robbie O’Connor and I were thick as thieves back in grade school. You couldn’t tear us away from that sandbox. We drifted a bit in high school. I was into punk music; Robbie still loved the sandbox. Last time I saw him, we were home the summer after college—the cops were pulling Robbie out of the sandbox. We lost touch soon after. I regret that.
If only I’d been able to let myself laugh. Like, really laugh. When people said funny things, my mouth would open and my shoulders would shake, but no sound came out. I know now that sound was supposed to come out.



