I didn’t know why, and I had no proof. But maybe—just maybe—we’ve been here, with these people, in this place, in this moment, thousands and tens of thousands of times before.

Maybe I would have died back in third grade, at eight or nine years old. Thinking that, a strange feeling sprouted toward this life that had been extended back then. A feeling that was tender, grateful, like a guardian saying, “You’ve come this far.”