There are innumberable versions of the truth, with every word you forgot to use, or every word you choose to use you perpetuate another version in your world.
The point is I dont care for the truth, neither yours nor mine. There is a reason that I will beam with joy at your sight and you wouldnt even utter a single word to corrupt the truth of it.
Technically the infinite paths never show up. Those versions we have sufficiently corrupt the spectrum of delusions. If we let go, perhaps we might find another disused path or maybe even a new angle; but our inertia carries through sufficiently to stop at the point of calling ourselves original.
Sometimes, there is a good reason why a sigh should be uttered inaudible - It scares me that even this would corrupt your arc. Flow my friend. Flow.
The point is I dont care for the truth, neither yours nor mine. There is a reason that I will beam with joy at your sight and you wouldnt even utter a single word to corrupt the truth of it.
Technically the infinite paths never show up. Those versions we have sufficiently corrupt the spectrum of delusions. If we let go, perhaps we might find another disused path or maybe even a new angle; but our inertia carries through sufficiently to stop at the point of calling ourselves original.
Sometimes, there is a good reason why a sigh should be uttered inaudible - It scares me that even this would corrupt your arc. Flow my friend. Flow.
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