He was still there to listen to my misadventures, to feed me and hold me close. I don’t know how many years we have left, he and I. I don’t know if we’ll bow out early like Messrs. Toulouse-Lautrec and Van Gogh, or if we’ll be around long enough to watch the other’s hair grow gray. I just know that in a world where nothing is constant, when I can’t even be sure of myself, this one thing endures. The truth is, roads move only in one direction, no matter how hard you try or how desperately you scream at traffic. You take a deep breath, and you accept that you are going somewhere new. You will
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