A therapist once told me I needed to connect with my inner child. I thought she was full of shit, talking in tropes. Then that little dude reached through time and grabbed me. He said, “yo. shave your head, build stuff, be soft, be funny, forgive people, improvise a life you love. Let shit go. Do right by my dreams.” He’s always here now, in my mischief, in my shoulders, in my paint brush, in my loud music and my fast driving. It’s his eyes that admire every pretty sunset. He guides my hands when they write, when they caress, and when they play. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself and I think, “He would be proud of the man I’ve become.”