What if being fucked in the mind was a metaphor for kicking the blues away? As I relive my life backwards and forwards, a reoccurring hymn becomes engraved in my nervous system: the future remains uncertain and quite possibly a utopian shade of 'I love you.' In it, a boy has grown accustom to the idea of walking through life wearing an armor made of glass. By his own account, the armor manages to showcase images of the sky falling despite being curious if the ever-changing stars will one day align in his favor. He is looking from the outside in with hopes of someone understanding how chaotic his anxiety dreams have become while worrying if outsiders, unknowingly, have or will discredit his well-being as a now 20-something year old when standing
