
I’m forty-one and I live inside a life that looks like a brochure.
If you stand at the end of my driveway you see the ranch first—open space, clean lines, the kind of horizon people pay money to photograph. My two boys run around like they own the world because in their heads they kind of do. There are moments where the light hits them just right and it feels like the universe is trying to apologize for everything it’s ever done to me.
And then I go back inside my own skull.
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