David M. Harris
I'm sorry but I don't remember you that well. Short, yes, brown hair, I remember that, and thinner than I am. But exactly who you were? Obscure. And why you were so very stupid sometimes, I can't imagine. The anger and awkwardness have attenuated into the textures of an ordinary life. Better that way. The hunger for distinctions has been reduced, balanced by belly. I barely remember all those fires of our precarious heart. I'm sorry to report we did not transfigure ourselves or the world. That dream is just a memory. We did more good than harm. I cleave to that, and try to keep your memory content.