Like most things, love and memory have been known to walk down a similar path. What we have loved we have consumed and (re)discovered. The more we discovered the more we hung on to. Like the breadcrumbs that would lead us back to our sanity. But, like the foolish children in the story, the breadcrumbs we so diligently left behind have been eaten by the birds that watched the journey.
Searching for a way to remember only leads us further forwards, further backwards.
This forwards backwards dance of time is placed upon the husago.
And time continues to move.
And we continue to look for traces into our minds. For the key that will allow us to understand, to know.
What does knowing look like?
Questions echo from across the world. The problem with asking questions is questions birth questions. Then suddenly you are further along the path of love than you are of memory. Behind you, the path has evaporated. Behind you there is nothing but achings of last night’s dinner.
(Candlelit memories with a side of half spoken sighs)
What does knowing look like?
Like most things, love and memory have been known to walk down a similar path. The path has no breadcrumbs.
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