You are destructively sentimental in your early adolescent days. You were young, that was for sure, but everything else was pure confusion. Neither a child nor an adult, you too might have been a confused but brooding mass of energy as I was. I had a pencil moustache, a firm square jaw, a tall slender frame and round manly shoulders. My knuckles were becoming huge and would more often be smeared in ink than not. My voice became deep and boomingly loud. People started looking and treating me differently. I spent my days aimless, carousing with the boys at times and times alone—deep in the night you would have found me in the street, still raving and singing out loud. My feelings were like a tangled mass I could not undo and weighed heavy in my chest—all I knew was I needed to vent.