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On some days, the door to that world seems to be closing for good. The only positive thing I can say about our vanishing possibility is this: we are no longer constrained by the unreality of political reality.
What comfort do we seek, what sacrifices can we make, and what do we sacrifice for?
Words dried up when my father died. In the new year I’m finding new words, but this paragraph I wrote in June was like a lump in my throat, demanding to come first: