When we were younger, we would meet every chance we had. Each meeting another break from school and chores and growing up.
Now, we are older. And meeting you feels like an assignment, a chore, a side effect of growing up. It's a band-aid hiding how nowadays, we are never not apart.
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Each headline is harder to swallow. Each text another punch in the gut. Each day another attempt to save what was mine by pushing it away. Each decision another crumpling of an empty page. I only hope when the creases are smoothed there will be something left to write on.
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Man's best friend lives 10 to 20 years, and why not more? Why can't furry tails wag forever, if only because I want them to. Heavenly Father, if Methuselah had 1000 years, why not my best friend 30? Why not, why not, why not? Why not let his damp snout and curious eyes see just another day?