It’s my biggest fear, next to death. To run out of time. Because: To write all the stories. To love all the people. To make a difference. To win the prize. Because, dear heart: We all run out of time, ready or not. A vicious tug of war. Hope vs. despair. Yet the roller coaster of life—exciting and scary and often creaking and jarring—eventually grinds to a halt on its tracks. The Great Conductor, His voice booms: End of the ride! The shiny metal buckle, smooth and cold to the touch, releases its vice-like grip from across my hips with a flick of the wrist. My legs wobble as I push against the mechanical arm and stand. How I yearn for another lap around the track. But it’s here I discover: I didn’t run out of time. I ran into eternity. Accompanied by a lifetime of memories, of stories and books, adventures and dreams, that flourished. Well done, child, a still small voice whispers. Well done.

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