3 Allow yourself hit-or-miss days; it’s due to you to let air pass by normally, as it does in your lungs, expanding like red and blue balloons. It’s impossible to have known the days already, known them all—each sluggish start, each heavy heat of summer noontime light, each breakfast bowl and expiration date. I doubt it all already. . . . These are mere statements of my youth. Resigning to impossibility would deplete the sap leaping through my bones and the possibility that fire might become the ignition of me. Oh, let us unite the flames of chance and shift.
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