At 27, I’m finally learning… it’s never been about right or wrong.
You weren’t wrong about so many, so many, intricate important things that lay all around us & in Plain sight. I long to reach out to you, discuss how insane *they all are, and then I remember where you were wrong. And I sit back, feeling how it felt, to be made to think – that it was me.
As the fog dissipated, the stone became clear and in writing it affirmed. Neither one wrong, one wanted solitude a little longer. It wasn’t for specific views, known feelings, or a different medium under their foot. It was the art of isolation they longed for, though there weren’t words for it, because it wasn’t a conscious thought then… it was the art of isolation and what it could unfold into if given the time.
The stone sits, the paths unwind into the wood… and maybe they go further still.