This is not the way to anywhere; it is simply a construction of thoughts, void of entrance fees and scurrying children. I expect that upon its completion it will lay here like some deflated philosophy, absent of direction, yet spilled about its edges a partial truth.
Just as truth often leaves a strain of regret behind, there is also an unmistakable aroma of accumulated yesterdays. It builds and permeates until it moves as you move; it travels as you travel, ultimately being acknowledged as a part of you.
It is the natural order of things that you not be separated from your past. We are a total makeup of our history; a readable road map to all who see us as we are.
Just as I have constructed this with my hands, marking exact locations, drilling precise holes to fit mental rivets, and shoring up with thick welds those ideas too heavy to stand on their own, its very existence remains now as a footprint. I was here and these thoughts - now affixed to my past can be read by those who see me as I am.
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