“We are all a part of the cycle. And though the seed may always be a part of us, nothing stays the same.” He pauses, helmet downcast. “Nothing stays.” “So, that person may always be a part of us,” I whisper, “but we don’t have to hold on to them.” “Does the river hold itself back from running?” “It’s sometimes hard to let go of that person,” I utter softly. “The one we used to be.” “I’m still trying,” he says, then
