My paper is my past. And if you've ever tried to erase something from a piece of paper, you already know where I'm going with this. You can erase the words, sure, but hold that paper up to the light and there it is—the mark, the indentation, the little dirty smudge from where you rubbed the eraser back and forth trying to make something disappear. It never really goes back to what it was. Neither do we. And maybe we're not supposed to. Hey, how are you doing? I'm sitting here