storm_of_sharp_things
Chronicler-at-large; sings below inveterate scars
Bio
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?- T. S. Eliot
“Burnt Norton”