3.15b

I wish I could describe the circumference of time using nothing more than this string and a felt-tip pen. I would plot your life with proficiency and grace, long sweeps of taut cord guiding an ever-loosening line until all the ink had run out and I found myself back at your start to find you waiting there to begin. And what would you say to me if I told you what became of every ambition you ever had? Would you shudder and despair, or, pulling up your breath and filtering your look through a thousand steely stares, would you shoulder your burden and walk? I hope I never find out.