I described myself in relation to what was most important. The oldest. The one closest to the mantle. The weight of responsibility fit like a glove.

A story forgotten. A story remembered. A story made one’s own.

It’s a dull pain. A drumming on your head. An ache that won’t go away. Of course, fleeing is top of mind. That takes the priority, not trusting in a greater purpose.

Enjoyment where pain was expected. Disappointment where expectation was placed. Surprise where spontaneity was allowed. Delight at a turn unexpected.

You don’t know which will be the last. Treat them all as if they could be! There is much to do, but only a few things need doing.