You,

I am young! I am vibrant! Look at me go, my body in perfect synch with the world, moving at the pace of others, moving faster than others! People see me coming and move out of the way, because they know I have a place to go and the means to get there. Legs! Arms! Eyes, darting from place to place, completely alert! My body is a machine, a well-oiled, perfectly pitched, wonderfully driven machine! A car! A beautiful car that gets 80 miles to the gallon. Look at me go, look at my youth! It is to be admired! It is to be jealous of, I know. I can not help it. I am young! I am alive! I am beautiful!

I need to use this body more. I fear it slipping, falling, creeping away from me. I am wonderful and beautiful, but I will wake up one day with wrinkles and a knee ache, and my fingers will swell with arthritis. I will be old! Oh, mother of mercy, I will be old. I can hold onto things, to books, to rocks, to sand that does not creep between my fingers if I remain steady, but I cannot hold onto my body. I need it to be held. I need it to be loved. I need to use this body like it has never been used before, because when I am old, I need to say, "I cannot use this body like it was used before, but at least it was used then."

Love me! You. You? You! You... and you. Won't you love me? Hold me, touch me, what is going on here in that I am not being used? Why is my body not being used to its full potential right. This. Very. Minute? It is a shame, a crime against humanity. I am young! Young, damnit! I need to be touched. I need to be admired. I need women - no. girls! girls! not women. I am not old enough for women. - to look at me, to love me, to press their young bodies against mine and think, yes, this is good, this is right, we are young and this should be happening. It will not always happen. This is the time for it. When we are young and good, and fresh. Oh, and fresh.

I am not using this body enough. I should join a gym. I should play some ball. I should run. Run! Why am I driving a car, when I could be running? I could be on a bicycle, zipping down sidewalks, making my own path. I could be pushing this body, showing you what it's made of. I could be lifting things, fixing things, being things. I could be. I could be anything! Oh, I could be anything because this body could be anything, but soon this body will be slow and aching, and I will be slow and aching, too. I am my body. My body is not loved enough. This body needs love. Love!

The time is now. I know it. Here we go. To the bikes! To the streets! To the clubs, and I shall dance, and I shall sweat, and I shall take it all in, and love it, and it will love me, and we shall mingle and laugh and love and have a glorious time, these young bodies and mine. I am young! I am vibrant! Love me.

-Fred.

dirty laundry