AK-47

I'm scared of this post because I mean it.
I know more about blogger settings than I do about changing my oil. And it seems like my pants are getting tighter.

And with each blog post I'm getting worse at basketball.

So take me back.

Take me back to when I didn't have feelings. When I wasn't trying to change the world. When happiness was a Symphony bar. And love was going to a Jazz game. 

"It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song"

Take me back to when Christmas was still fun. To when I didn't sleep on Christmas Eve. To when it was about the presents. And not how the hell I'm going to pay for presents. 

Take me back to when Mom was still alive and I didn't know Dad was a douchebag. Take me back to recess. And Pokemon, and Gameboy colors, and Andrei Kirilenko's rookie season. 

"I thought I saw my childhood the other day, but it didn't recognize me"

Maybe you can't take me back. But at least put it in a shoe-box and bury it in the backyard. The backyard where anything use to be possible. And shed a tear for me. 

And when you see him, give him my old Buzz and Woody, and my Andrei Kirilenko rookie card. Tell him I'm sorry that Woody's hat is missing and most of Buzz's arm. And I'm sorry that Andrei Kirilenko sucks. But tell him, that's what makes them great. Tell him the same week his Mom dies his favorite basketball is going to get a hole in it. Tell him I'm sorry I can't fix holes, I can only find the beauty in them. Tell him the future might not be brighter, but at least there is a future. And tell him, tell him that I love him. 

And what scares me about this post is that I mean it.