So then we found it in our guts. The hope we'd been looking for was within us, it was just strewn about the crevasses and hidden in parts. Nothing that was thought of was ever whole. Like electrons, time moves in a synchronous wave until we observe it as the uncertain particles that frustrate our black and white minds. Did that memory happen? Or is it some borrowed illusion from a universe that used to be this one?

To give certainty to anything is easy. But sheds no light on truth. For all that is imagined, lives. And, one day, will no longer.

Leafing through it all, I realized that we had always been destined for what was to happen. As the vastness of this earth is for the rain that deposits in its cracks. As the silence would fall into its own grasp, should the nuances allow it.

In fact, I'm not so sure the lines we drew and crossed again and again were good for anything. Rather, they distracted us from the concrete wall behind, as if it were the bull that would kill us, not the alley we were trapped in. So instead, we cornered ourselves and waited for our thread of prayers to pull our spirits up to heaven.