History as an End in Itself


 
They arrived at their new home having traversed an arbitrary road, one of many, all an arrow to that domicile.

“All paths lead to here,” he marveled.

She disagreed. “Every one of them leads from here to who knows where.”

The relative nature of time and space: we’re mired in our own perspective and its peculiar gravity.

“Yet here we have come,” he said intent on her eyes.

She turned her gaze to the ground. “Where there are multiple and inviting points of departure . . . ”

We fear loss more than we desire gain — unless we believe our grip unbreakable.

As love is a selfless form of lust, we unmask ourselves in the taking.

Home. “If anything sacred remains.”
 
 

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