I am old enough to know that soon, sooner than I could imagine, my voice will start caving out from underneath itself when I pick it up to sing. That I will look in the mirror and see my age written across my face as if it were canvas with thick strokes of undrying paint. Drying. Eventually
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And on an intentionally unrelated note: Happy birthday.
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Good luck with your writing. May this year bring you closure and publication. Can't wait to see where your next endeavor takes you!
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