The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calendar, the wrinkles and lines of the body.
I wrote my way out.
There's so little wonder left in the world because we've seen everything one way or another'.
We were all nomads once, and crossed the deserts and the seas on tracks that could not be detected, but were clear to those who knew the way. Since settling down and rooting like trees, but without the ability to make use of the wind to scatter our seed, we have found only infection and discontent.
I wanted to cause trouble, but I know now it stays with you.
The physical memory blunders through the doors the mind has tried to seal. ... Wisdom says forget, the body howls.