Some stretches of time, however painful or sweet, are just small, ordinary passages along the way. What matters is how we make our way through them. At every sharp turn, do we choose a winding road, a wrong road, a desolate road, or the only road forward? Can we judge whether our choices and experiences were right or wrong only when the world has fallen to dust?
You turn in circles through your youth, going clockwise. Through the glass of the revolving door, I watch helplessly as you spin, dizzy and lost. I stand in a white dress, waiting for you at the dark and bewildering end of youth.
