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When I opened the can, it whispered up at me and just about broke my goddamn heart. It spoke of lost loves and friends that are no more. It wielded their names like sharpened chopsticks. I could hear the smile in its voice. It told me of missed opportunities and empty dreams. I tried to protest, but it shushed me and said I needed to hear this. It said I'll never be a metal sculptor — I never stood a chance. It said I'll never be in Mensa. It said my ears are too big and that I mince, not walk.
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It described me as ruggedly awkward. It said I'll never get to know my dad, not really. I said screw you, man, you don't know shit. It said it knows these things, can identify and articulate others' sorrow. I said I'm going to Hanegi Park to enjoy the plum blossoms. It said how poetic, but that I'm still just mediocre, a nonfactor. I said oh yeah? Then I drank it dry and stepped on it. 
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