Buried Light
An essay by Chad Schomber
Buried Light
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The thing about giving something up is, no one ever claps for it. There’s no parade for a dream walked away from. No one frames the empty canvas.
My dad was a fine arts major. The real kind. Knew his way around a kneaded eraser and could talk composition like it mattered more than politics. He was special at it. Not in a sentimental, every…
