Do-na-da-go-hv-i

I'm convinced there is no more difficult a phrase to say nor no more painful thing to do than bid adieu and part ways with people you care about. The fork in the road is a cultural myth. The road is in and of itself fork after fork after fork; fraught with them, three pronged, six pronged, paths shooting off divergently in haphazard directions like a gigantic candelabra made by someone with poor motor skills where goodbyes wait after each and every wary step. Even after browsing the however many hundred cultural and native ways of saying that word, and the translations thereof, goodbyes are an awfully grueling aspect of life and the constant continental drift our lives take on as we age; inherent, required, unfortunate, and occurring with frightening frequency. All we can do is keep waving.