2013 Edition:

Fog, wavering in a fog of self-creation. My mind's way of protecting oneself from the guilt and shame. I know I've done something I will regret this evening as surely as I know I breathe.

2019 Edition:

“Yippie-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!” Caleb shouts at the screen, then pops a piece of popcorn into his gaping mouth. “Merry Christmas, Jesus. I missed this movie.”

“And I missed you.” Arm wrapped around Caleb's shoulder, I pull him as close to me as the theater seats will allow.