All Books Should Be Trilogies; I Mean

There Is No Metaphor For Death. All Comparisons Are Odious, But I'll Do One Anyway. We All Have These Moments Of Harsh Clarity Where We Realize That Something Is Gone, Whether That Is Youth, Whether That Is Someone We Care About, Whether That Is Where We Literally Lose Someone We Care About To Death. Or We End A Relationship That We Thought Would Last Forever, Or Have One Ended For Us. We All Have These Moments In Life Where It Seems Impossible To Fill Up The Time That We Have Left For Us, And Yet We Have To Do It Somehow.

In A Mad Moment, My Family And I Purchased A Home In Maine Because It's The Place In The World That My Wife Loves Better Than Any Other Place Or Any Other Human, And So I Have Committed My Life And What Had Once Been My Economic Security That Has Now Returned To Insecurity, To A Patch Of Painful, Rocky Land On The Shores Of Horrible, Cold Waters To A Place Where People Go In The Summer To Experience Autumn Because Leaves Start Falling On August 1.

For Many Years, People Would Say, "only Child? Must Have Been Terrible," And I Wanted To Say, "you Are Mentally Ill, Because It Was The Greatest." You Got All The Attention. You Never Had To Share Anything. No One Ever Ate Your Food. No One Ever Took Your Toys. But The Unintended Consequence Was That I Didn't Appreciate That Being Universally Loved Was Not Only Not Required For Happiness, But Also Not Possible.

My Type Of Humor Is Me Not Caring Whether People Know What I'm Talking About Or Not.

I Know Nothing About Letting Go.