Initially I’d written that I was 19, but later changed it to 20 with the thought that two was better than one.
My true age was fifty-six, and in my heart, two was still better than one, regardless how anyone else arrived at the number.
Dad died when he was fifty-five. Alone.
The last thing he said to me was,
“Don’t take a reader’s perceptions to heart.”
He also told me that happiness comes easily, but died in tears.
So I write just this way, but twice.
Once to smile without fear, for me.
Once to cry in fear, for him.