What if tomorrow morning, I set back the clock. Back to when I was best friends with Alex – and others – and I got up in the mornings and practiced for my 3 hours, from 7 to 10. High school. I could do it. I could decide to do it. I could regress. Revert. What did I do at night? I talked to Deborah. I talked to Stephen. I talked to Mom and Dad. I went to sleep. I dreamed. Peacefully. Life wasn’t too bad. Was it. I was waiting for my first love. Waiting. I knew partial versions of love. Semi-loves. But I was an emotional and physical virgin. I was waiting. I was pure. Can I remember? I was not so hopeless and weighty. I had more lightness than weight. I had plans. But I didn’t know my plans would intersect with great sorrow. I had plans. Initial plans. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I was only thinking to regress. Not to regress then progress. Just regress. Try to do a do-over. A do-over. A do-over. A do-over. Will I catch my mistakes the second time around? Was my mistake that I fell in love with the wrong girl? Could I control that? Am I supposed to understand that there’s a dance between destiny and personal choice?

Maybe I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to remedy errors I’ve made. Is life going to turn out to be like One Hundred Years Of Solitude? Coming face to face with yourself, a different version of yourself possibly, your own re-creation. My effort to regress could send me on this kind of path.