@robertduraniv: We thought they were talking about time. They were talking about loss. One evening, the bicycles were left against the fence for the last time. The boys went home. Nobody knew an entire world had quietly ended. Then the years began collecting things. Voices. Faces. Familiar roads. The people we thought would always be there. The tragedy of growing up is that life never announces which ordinary moment will become sacred. And perhaps that is the cruelest mercy of time: We are given paradise in the present, but so often recognize it only in memory. Don’t blink.

Robert Duran IV

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Thursday 15 October 2026 00:17:52 GMT