It’s amazing what happens in sixteen years: I graduated from high school, went to college, dropped out from college, went back to college, visited multiple countries, worked a couple of jobs, started my own business, got married, got fat then skinny then proportionate, started working on graduate studies, and about a million other milestones and mundane life markers.
Throughout each of these life events, I had a trusty confidant by my side (more accurately, in my mouth, cemented behind my lower teeth).
Keeping my teeth in line, I never really thought about my confidant, it was always there.
My confidant became loose.
My teeth slowly started to shift.
I think about how strong the cement was, holding a small piece of wire in place for sixteen years.
I think about how much food and drink I have consumed over the years.
Not much in this life is made to withstand the brutality food and drink had upon the poor little wire.
I could probably say the wire is a metaphor for life and the need for time-tested confidants to keep us in line, but the wire is not the metaphor, the cement is.
Without the cement, I would have choked on the wire long ago.