It’s weird how life can be a beautiful miracle and an inevitable tragedy at the same time. Standing at the precipice of significant loss and change feels so strange. The solid and the real are already starting to flicker and fade. They’re memories before they need to be remembered. They’re stories before they need to be narrated. I want to touch every surface while it’s still tangible, absorb the space as it stands with my eyes and my ears before change rushes over it like a high tide. The heartbeat of the old house slows and we hold our breath.