rises and as it sets, still watching the moon wax and wane. We’re still trying, still hoping, still getting it wrong and getting it right. We’re walking together, fighting on sidewalks, making wishes on coins in fountains, praying on our knees. Every generation believes that theirs is special, balancing on an edge, a razor’s-edge precipice—now, now, now, all the urgency. But they’re gone now, and we will be too, swept up into the past, another special generation on the stage while we watch from the wings. And as we watch them, younger than us but largely the same, we’ll see how desperately
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