I found out my uncle, the man I’m named after, has cancer today. A man who I don’t see nearly enough, but every time I’m with him he leaves me with some small unintentional lesson about how to live. What in this world matters so much that we allow it to keep us from loved ones?

I’ve been (poorly) translating Borges poems once a day as a quarantine ritual. This is the one I randomly flipped to today. I won’t bother sharing my translation, but it’s a beautiful reflection on endings.

“There is a mirror that will see me for the last time”

“There is a door I have closed until the end of the world”

Going to mute this thread because it’s a little exhausting to get a notification about it every time someone likes it. So if you send me something and I don’t acknowledge it, know that I appreciate all of you.