458: the well of lost plots

You could think about all the ways this could have ended. But at the end of the day, the road never leads to wherever you want it to go. There are routes planned, ways to end. I keep imagining a highway running all the way down the hill, you driving the car down the slope, a vision of the city appearing beyond the horizon. Like the world is before you, and everything is possible. Then you drive all the way to the bottom only to realise that nothing can be done. You always think there is a chance at reconciliation before you remember that the anger is more than the heartbreak.

How does it end? Will it end? Does someone have to give in? Could it be that, after coming full circle, to where it all began, things will still never be the same? There are too many stories about walking the long way only to realise that what you wanted was right in front of you. But at the end of the day, even to cross the road is difficult, and is a lifetime apart.

When the night is dark, it is painful to realise that, perhaps, you are the only one that wishes things were different.


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