If I’m moving fast enough, nothing can hurt me.If I’m always running away, nothing can get a hold on me, can take root long enough for me to feel something. I don’t have to face the monsters, I can just run by, their faces a passing blur. I can’t stop, I can’t pause long enough to take a breath, to look someone in the eye because—it’s dangerous.It’s like…if I run fast enough, no...

I’ve noticed that as my hand begins to wear its imprint into the neck of the guitar, so the guitar begins to etch itself into the fingers of my left hand. I think it’s this way with many things—a time of novelty before an era of familiarity rides in on a tide of broken firsts. I think sometimes before we even know it, before we even begin to feel it, we’ve melted into someone else, become...