I Miss Him Still
By Christopher Munroe
I miss the man I used to be.
The energy, the enthusiasm of youth. The belief that I could do anything, these are things I do genuinely miss.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d never go back to being him in a million years. He was just the worst. If I met myself at seventeen it’d be five minutes before I wanted to punch him in the face. He was too full of himself, too in love with the sound of his own voice to be even remotely tolerable.
I still am, but the material I do now has improved somewhat...