By the time I learned how much I loved my family, I was 3 years and eight-hundred miles away from them. Why do we do this — wander from the ones we love most in search of self? My current state of individuality can't help but speculate what must be the pacified desolation of my never-complaining parents. Only from that assumption can I begin to construct the definition of a father; a mother — someone who willingly forfeits their entire world to a child they know is going to grow up and leave them
forever.
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To be honest, I miss my sadness. I am this headline writing machine these days, one motivated by laughs and sale increases. But the catalyst to me ever picking up a pen was depression, which ironically isn't depressing at all. I guess sometimes I feel like I need to harness internal gravity and ride it, and in that acknowledgement, I decided to write a quick blurb about the saddest story of all.