For some, sorrow requires distance. Choose to set your heartache at the door, leave and round the first bend of the road. The heart will respond to the way before it, leaving the past behind colored by time, a shadow with no substance to cling to for definition. Conjecture is for the future. All reason is here and now, in the way the ancient pine bough grows, extends itself into the light, so too extend yourself, striving to be mutable, to understand that in the becoming is the being.
