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“I’VE BECOME MORE AWARE OF MYSELF. BECAUSE OF THE SITUATION. NOW THAT I KNOW I’M LEAVING, I SEE THINGS DIFFERENTLY. I’VE BEEN AWARE OF LITTLE THINGS THAT I WOULD HAVE MISSED BEFORE. “LIKE WHAT?” LIKE SEEING THE SUN SHINE OFF THE ROOF OF OUR OLD BARN. I SAW THAT THIS MORNING AND STOOD THERE, LOOKING AT IT. I FOUND IT MOVING. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL—IT REALLY WAS. I DON’T USUALLY THINK ABOUT IF A LANDSCAPE IS BEAUTIFUL OR NOT, BUT I COULDN’T CONTROL THIS FEELING. I SAW IT AND RECOGNIZED THAT IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? IT MADE ME SAD. “SAD?” I CAN HEAR HIM TYPING. HE’S TRYING TO DO IT QUIETLY, BUT I CAN HEAR. “WHY?” I DON’T KNOW. I HAVE NO IDEA. “BECAUSE BEAUTY IS FLEETING, MAYBE?” NO, I SAY. IT’S THE OPPOSITE. BEAUTY ISN’T FLEETING. BEAUTY IS ETERNAL. BUT . . . I’M NOT. I’M FLEETING. THAT’S MORE THE POINT. HIS TYPING STOPS ABRUPTLY. “THAT’S QUITE PROFOUND. YOU DO SEEM MORE SELF-AWARE AND INTROSPECTIVE THAN WHEN I FIRST ARRIVED. IT MAKES ME THINK OF BAUdelaire: ‘I CAN BARELY CONCEIVE OF A TYPE OF BEAUTY IN WHICH THERE IS NO MELANCHOLY.’” — Iain Reid