Elizabeth Lyvers's

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Two birds sit on a telephone line at sunset

The End of the Story

Someone took a photo of me the other day, a headshot for author purposes, and looking at it, I was struck by the fine lines around my eyes. I know thirty-one isn’t “old” and in a few years I will want to pat myself on the head and say, “You silly, young thing,” BUT the truth remains—those lines were not there ten years ago. The passage of time is slipping into my face, like ink blotting through a page, and...