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They say I’m young, but my thoughts are like retired concert performers, cracking their knuckles with arthritis caused by overuse. Surrounded by empty velvet chairs, waiting for someone to pay attention to them.

I am a camera. One of the plastic ones my grandma used back in the 60’s. Tangible yet living forever within the walls of brightly colored plastic. My thoughts are hidden, wound up inside, waiting for someone to show me the light.

Carnegie Hall, don’t expect me anytime soon. As much as I would like to meet you, I have unfinished business to attend to. There are stories to be told, pictures to be drawn, adventures to be discovered.

I’m not done yet.

I’m not done yet.

I promise you, I’m far from done.