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This is the moment. This part of my life when I have to make decisions that will weigh on the rest of my life. The elections, which will pave the path leading me by the "maturity" to the end of my existence. Nobody knows whether I could follow it with a raised brow? Or whether you meet the pre-ranking tasks? If I get to order and whether it many more times will it change? Or if I could just say, proud of myself that I'm happy? Will see...

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One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.