Looking at that photo, I can't remember who I was. The unshapely, unkempt facial hair... the daze in my eyes, and the overgrown rim of black surrounding a miniscule hue of deep brown in my cornias; these things all were a mystery to the man now looking back at the mad eyed, half smiling, half exploding lunatic that I saw in that picture. I can't recall what he did on that particular weekend, or what was so fantastic about it. I can recall constantly shouting "DR. SCOTT!" at the stage, as some mindlessly bantering jam band emulated. It made a friend laugh, and at that point, I lived to make friends laugh.
Rewind two years to a photo my me smiling blindly, still at that time unkempt and wild looking, no more than 2 feet away from the camera. A friend is there with me. We look happier than I've felt since all of these things turned to memories. What were we feeling that night? Why do both of our smiles show such absolute purity in this one brief moment, and why do I not have the ability to reconnect?
I'll never forget travelling across the country in a van communicating with a stranger whom I had kissed once at that point, and would not see again for a month. Never again have I so interested another human being. Never again have I both been so encapsulated, and felt so adored by another person.
What's changed? Was it the drugs? Am I ill? Is this what growing up's supposed to be? It feels more like growing backwards. Communication is not so easy as it was once. I think I was outgoing once. For the life of me, I can't remember why.