My father once told me, “Son, eventually the world is going to see you for what you really are.”
I stopped dealing out cards and stared at him.
“And it doesn’t matter if they’re ready, because they won’t be. They shouldn’t be. And all they will be able to do is look back and wonder how they were so goddamn blind to you this long.”
We’d rented a summer cabin on a lake in some backwoods town in Maine, and had a table set up around a campfire where we were playing cards. A lot happened for me that night. I learned that my dad was a fucking machine when it came to spades, but I also learned about myself.
I gained an intense amount of inspiration, and spent most of the night writing in a hardcover journal that my grandfather left me before he passed away.
It was then that I knew I’d get my story published. I’d bled my soul into this journal. 250 pages each containing the entirety of my heart. And My father didn’t know just how close he was to the truth.

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