He lets go of my shoulders, but I keep looking into his face. Mr. Bender is as old as my father, but I see something in him that is as young as me. Do certain events in our lives leave a permanent mark, freezing a piece of us in time, and that becomes a touchstone that we measure the rest of our lives against?

Pieces.
A bit for someone here.
A bit there.
And sometimes they don’t add up to anything whole.
But you are so busy dancing.
Delivering.
You don’t have time to notice.
Or are afraid to notice.
And then one day you have to look.
And it’s true.
All of your pieces fill up other people’s holes.
But they don’t fill
your own.