The difference is mostly questions. The difference of how language removes layers of identity, who the person I used to be remembers being, what they ask the upside-down constellations. When I taste water and when I think about how humans gather in aggregates. We say it has no taste but minerals tell a different story. I have never invented modern plumbing, but my mind somehow circulates beneath the city. The sewers in fiction are not symbolic enough. Cold impermanence, blue convention, rusty form. A fundamental question, like what continues or remains of a discontinued desire? Why is there something rather than plastic? What matters? To admit that feeling matter more than answering questions, the difference between youth and whatever this is called.