Here’s to the new me. The old me. The you-don’t-even-know-me. To the me that died twice before I met you: third time’s the charm. Been chewed up and spit out more than I’ve ever seen a sunrise, and I’ve only ever liked sunrises when I’m with you. I’ll become something you’ve never seen before, nothing borrowed, nothing blue. Set my head aflame, built a home out of the ashes, let the wind blow it away into the sun. The breeze sings, lo que está muerto no puede morir. And when there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
I don’t know that kid anymore, and maybe I never knew him at all.