Time is a keyhole, he thought as he looked up at the stars. Yes, I think so. We sometimes bend and per through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do it – the wind that blows through the keyhole – is the breath of all the living universe.
Tragedy blows through your life like a tornado, uprooting everything, creating chaos. You wait for the dust to settle and then you choose. You can live in the wreckage and pretend it’s still the mansion you remember. Or you can crawl from the rubble and slowly rebuild.
Well a wise man once said that a “No” is like a “Yes” except with different letters and arranged in a different order and spoken out loud but, you know, it disappears on the wind.