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The time spent reflecting on the past is time spent not paying attention to the present. Rearview mirrors tell us where we’ve been but say nothing about where we’re going. I am not sure why I cling to the past like a life preserver. Security and safety-yes-they are tasty memories but their sweetness has turned sour over time. Like coffee that has sat too long, I must through out the past and make a new batch of acquaintances. All the cream and sugar won’t camouflage the biting bitterness found in every sip yet I keep putting more in; futility searching for the exact ratio.

There are things I must change but first I need to change the lens with which I view the past and stop searching for answers in the mirror and starting looking through the windshield. Then I see Matt peering through the window of a coffee shop in downtown Portland. He leaves but I stop writing this rant and run outside to greet him.

We haven’t seen each other in some time and we discuss his upcoming marriage, mutual friends and time lost. The conversation turns to roommates. “I’ve had sex with all my female roommates,” explains Matt between draws off a cigarette, “except the fat ones.”

His five-o’clock shadow is peppered with salt-colored hairs as Matt mentions missing his fiancé, even though she left town a few days ago. His blue sweater clings tightly to his shoulders as he prepares to leave for band practice. “I can’t lie to a friend,” he explains, “I had sex with the fat ones too.”
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