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Wisdom of Loss
Even in my better moments there was a certain degree of fatalism, a lament for the finite.
How many more kisses, late nights spent wandering the back streets behind the Pantheon. A march ending in predawn eggs cooked to a Zoot Sims record.
Older and wiser I no longer wish for peace but now aspire to think only of what I have, not how long I will have it.
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