Bee hadn't lived very long. At least not in the eyes of others. He was in his thirties when the heart condition he was born with took his life.
As far as he was concerned, however, he had lived long. An eventful life. He'd wronged. He'd been wronged. He dreamed. He wavered. He faltered. He broke down. He found acceptance, of himself. He'd seen himself change. He'd seen the world change. He was happy in the end. He died with a smile.
And then he woke up seventeen years old. He was delighted. Some things wouldn't change. Some things would be different. He had returned to the start of his story. Everything before, was just the prologue. He was going to write a much better story. A truly good story. A bittersweet story, he suspected. But a warm story nonetheless.