Part Two

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"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all."
—Emily Dickinson


Part Two

Looking back, Greyson and I needed help. We'd barely lived, then. Wet behind the ears, we were wide-eyed and all-knowing without knowing much at all. Typical, perhaps. Detrimental, most definitely. There are very few who understand this better than myself.

But, if we got one thing right, it was this: before learning how to live, one must learn how to die.


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