They’d been taking their time. There wasn’t any need to hurry. They moved slowly, because the days moved slowly, and the air stood still around them.
This is what I do: Cook. Bake. Write music. Sing songs. Work part-time as a paralegal. My life is not remotely like I’d thought it would be; I’m doing it backwards, it seems. Nobody’s life really goes the way they expect it to, but mine has gone off course too many times to count, so many times and often so violently that nothing resembles anything, and all the parts have been replaced, most at least twice, an existential Ship of Theseus.