24

I don’t know how we can each have twenty-four hours in a given day, and yet it can vary so. Much. In how long they each, one by one, take to pass.

Today has been the second longest day of my life. The longest was the one I sat by my dying mother’s bedside.

Today, I sent a silent, long-distance goodbye to a most impactful, absent wraith whom I will never meet. He has a copy of my words, but I will likely never hear him speak.

How strange, the burns left behind from people you’ll never know. How they manage to stop time, slow it to a molasses crawl, inch by slow inch as the sun marches with agonizingly hesitant steps across the sky.

Step.

(Good)Bye.

Slow.

Step.

As someone once told me, I will never have to do today again.

But oh… The agonizing privilege of today.

I am grateful.