The Rest has Yet to Reveal Itself to Me

The looks on the faces of people we meet always register in our minds.
You might be the type to automatically jump to a flaw that you have: a lazy eye, a scar, a stutter, or a twitch. You might be the type to remember, to have a vendetta or a crush, a sign of hope or an omen of fate. You might be the type to refer to the books, the studies, the papers on proximity, body language, winks and nods. You might be the type that lets the shades down; sunlight can't burn what it can't touch. Walls make prisons.
The looks on the faces of people we meet always register in our minds.

Identity is fluid. A person can go from hero to scoundrel with a step to the right. We hold to ourselves truths that we feel are self evident. "I don't like oatmeal. I am successful. I have a great ass. I am not husky." In our world, we make the rules. In the real world, we are at the mercy of what the citizens of the world define us. Never feel that you can't be suave or interesting. Never think that you won't be successful with the other sex (or the same sex). Since identity is fluid, there exists a place where you are the funniest person. A place exists where there are people waiting to meet you, and its not a commercial for a late night phone sex operation. We are never stuck as just "us". We can always change.

All of this is subject to change.