Those first years alone weren't the worst.
I was still pissed off enough to keep moving.
Traveled all over, learned every fighting style I could get my hands on.
Got stupid strong because, honestly, what else was I gonna do with my time?
Made friends here and there, but they'd find mates, settle down, start families, and I'd move on.
Staying just reminded me I didn't have that.
Met this old couple once, married sixty years, still holding hands like kids.
I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself, so I asked for their secret.
The old guy said there was no secret—just found the right person, and being with her made him want to be better. I didn't get it then. Took me decades.
By year fifty, time started blurring.
Packs blended.
Someone asked my age once, and I had to think h
