Inheritances don’t always add something to your life.

Sometimes, they are simply inheritances of frustration, displaced temper passed from one generation to the next.

Inheritances of pretence, hitting you in the middle of a quiet night, fostering sobs you didn’t know could exist.

Inheritances of resentment, stagnating bitterness that somehow never goes away, that reminds you what could have been.

No, sometimes you just inherit adjustment, the art of making do, of taking what you are given and just living with it.

You inherit the knowledge that it’s possible to live any which way, that if you spend enough time, it starts to seem like life, that there isn’t another way.

They can be insidious, these inheritances; they can ruin appetites across oceans.

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