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A messy labyrinth. The walls should be static. Unmoving. But they shift like ghost bricks possessed. Beguiling the seeker into ever veiled corners of the mind and heart. Is there an end to the maze? Is the end, is the goal, the journey in and of itself? Instead of some finish line imagined? Are we securing the win by daring so boldly to lose repeatedly? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. (0) Eyes adjusting in the inky blackness of the maze. Finding a torch here and there. Mounted. Immovable. Standing by for a spell to reorganize the escape strategy from the borrowed light, (1) knowing full well it will be forgotten, once enough distance is created from it to make questions if there was ever a torch at all...
Footsteps echoing loudly through the catacombs where the spectres of pain relive their catastrophes with no mortal mercy of time to alleviate. Wailing at the deception of seductive false promises of peace in eternal sleep. Oh the betrayal. Somebody told them the way out is the way in. Heart beating wildly as untamed currents of blood cut a river of hope through the pain.The enterer gives the sign, (2) and illusion drops it's cruel disguise.
Peace and remembrance over wash. Devoid of darkness, devoid of hurt. Filled with all clarity, all cognizance. (3) Stepping out of the game, knowing now why it was started. And stepping right back in, to do it all over again.
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