So the words I’m writing are built to reveal, but by so doing conceal more than they share.

These are the words of motion and circumstance, the words sounding hollow—

—I work, hang out with friends, and live—

But is it fair to reduce a human to a silhouette, take a shadow and make a man, or take a life and forge an imprint?

And of course, is it not true that I’m you and you are me (and me, who am I?)

We both live in or around this town, teacher, we both talk and walk down the hallways, secretly wish for the end of the day to return home, and sit in this classroom and type.

We both think about things we want or have never done or will someday finally get the chance to, and maybe we both just want a little happiness—that’s true!

Maybe we want a moment to last forever, maybe we both want to forget that awful name called by that special person on that terrible day.

Maybe we don’t, and maybe I’m not you, nor you, me.

After all, I’m younger than you—that’s true, and I don’t know but I think you know more than I do.

After all, you’re the teacher, I’m the student, and I still know the chain of command.

But to write this page means I want to learn—from you, and maybe, given the chance, you’ll learn something from me, too.

But either way, there’s way to say yet what this class will bring to me, what I’ll take from the lessons, what you’ll allow me to have.

Anyway, this is me. These words, these thoughts, these hopes and dreams.

I want to write for a living, did you ever want to write, too?

I guess you want to teach, that’s true, and in the end, teaching becomes you.

But maybe I’ll learn from you and you’ll learn from me—

Even though you’re an adult

I will be soon, too.

And maybe in this class I’ll learn what means from you.

Or maybe you can learn about growing up from me—

Even though you’re grown, and “somewhat more free,”

These are the words that say

Everything about me.