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Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.
Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas.
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
None of us have work or leisure hours. Today is for Grandfather. Tomorrow, things go back to normal and we will move on and he will be gone.
Is it hard to sleep when you know the you are almost at the end? Do you not want to miss a moment, even unremarkable?
Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.
They are giving us pieces of a real life instead of the whole thing. They have perfected the art of giving us just enought freedom; just enough that when we are ready to snap, a little bone is offered and we roll over, belly up, comfortable and placated like a dog…
There is no luck in the Society. I nod. Of course. I should know better than to use such an archaic, inaccurate term. There's only probability now. How likely something is to occur, or how unlikely.