Six.

Divisible by two and evenly split. More than halfway to a decade. A soft curving line which coils into itself. The fetal position.

Six is a long distance from something. So long, it no longer matters, really. So long it wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I woke up this morning until I realized what day it was and I thought, “Oh, today is that date.” So long I wonder why I’m writing about it, but maybe it’s because there’s a dutiful, mourning lover in there somewhere still, buried among the layers: teacher, daughter, friend, colleague, pet owner, writer, Vancouverite, Edmontonian.

It’s there. It’s always there. But each 365-day period, I make a pilgrimage to my 21-year old heart.

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