Life has a strange sense of humor. Or maybe I’ve learned to laugh before it gets the chance to hurt. Whenever something serious happens in my life something that should demand silence, reflection, or grief I crack a joke. I perform. I act like I’ve rehearsed this moment before. And to be honest, I act well. People buy it. They move on. But when the noise settles, when the audience disappears, there’s always a quieter voice left behind. What are the possibilities to fix this? That question doesn’t knock. It barges in. My mind opens files instantly. Hundreds of them. Possibilities line up like witnesses in a courtroom some absurd, some brilliant, most useless. I replay conversations that already ended. I rewrite endings that no longer belong to me. I negotiate with time, knowing very well it doesn’t negotiate back. And when it’s done, when every argument has been heard, the verdict is always the same. Too late. Nothing changes. The moment has passed. The damage is archived. All ...