For what if life, every souled fiber of your being, tied you to the experience of breathing upon this ground? Each angel appeared not as visions, but as each moment that creates your existence, remembered not in achievement but roots to the mundanely extraordinary? We write to feel twice, and in the process of nostalgia we often forget to live the first time. May we encounter every touch and grace as a preservation of our humanity, our uniquely selected time to occupy this space. For there will be a time without us, and that too we will cherish after.