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We’re all just wandering through the tundra of our existence, assigning value to worthlessness, when all that we love and hate, all we believe in and fight for and kill for and die for is as meaningless as images projected onto Plexiglas.
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If you strip away all the trappings of personality and lifestyle, what are the core components that make me me?
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Or we struggled and suffered along in a loveless and broken state, toughing it out for the sake of our son.
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What a miracle it is to have people to come home to every day. To be loved. To be expected.
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Until everything topples, we have no idea what we actually have, how precariously and perfectly it all hangs together.
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I think of all the nights I lay in bed, wondering what it might be like if things were different, if I hadn’t taken the branch in the road that made me a father and mediocre physics professor instead of a luminary in my field. I suppose it all comes down to wanting what I didn’t have. What I perceived might have been mine through a different set of choices.
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