You can try to escape the story of your life, but you can’t. It happened. The baby died; the dog died; the heart broke. I knew you when you were young—I know your heart broke, too. I will know you when we are both old and maybe wise. I hope wise. I know you now, your story. Mine isn’t the one I would’ve chosen in the beginning, but I’ll take it. It is my story. It’s only mine. And it’s not over. There’s time. There is time. There’s so much time.