I opened up a video of my Dad that recorded for me.
One that I've diligently saved and archived so it'll never disappear.
A multitude of files, a multitude of places.
Formats designed to last decades to centuries.
Nature ages you in ways you never hope to see. Genetics crumble against bumper sticker solutions to book length problems.
Years gained in weeks.
Knowledge of the now fighting against the firm truths of the past.
4 years, come December.
The words were not what touched me.
It was his voice.
It was his presence.
Art provides catharsis in those times.
I needed it then.
I still need it now.
Thank you for that moment, Dallas.
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