consectari
Safety? Security? Perhaps. It's a lovely dream, at least, that there was a pace Zach could run away to where all of this would be behind him. A haven of calm and peace, where he could pretend that none of this had happened.
She tried to cut herself a break, to give herself some latitude. But soon she realized an undeniable truth...it really was going to be impossible to be a surgeon with her utter and near-phobic aversion to blood.
My brother is leaving, after his wife left. My father is having exploratory surgery to see if he has cancer. Departure. Maybe my brother's leaving will be enough for the universe, in which case I wish him bon voyage.
What sort of footprint will I leave? With no children and no plans to have children, how will I be remembered? Who will bother to remember me? And why do I even care?
Immortality lies in how one is remembered after death; at least that's what the poets say.