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"I don't know what to write," I tell Brice. I have a goal of writing every day, you see. 

"Write about how the baby was crawling down the hall and how we are all crawling down the hallway of life. We can choose to laugh and giggle as we head into the darkness, or we can turn back in fear."

"Brice, I love you. You are a source of endless delight."

And also, I think to myself, I'm totally not writing about that. Because that's weird.