Forward

I could write the both of us backwards trying to explain the world to you, and never get much further than "woah." It's an exercise in futility.

So I won't try to explain the world, and the both of us can keep going forward.

I'm not perfect. That's easy enough to conceive. I hate playing this game, even as I admire how beautifully the rules are structured. I laugh in the face of the consequences of circumventing convention, but secret myself away in the security offered by silly social norms.

The world is the game, an intricate institution that has so many ins-and-outs, they glisten like an ice maze in the early morning sunlight. I can't explain it without turning us away from it. I fear it, but I ultimately embrace it.

Let's go forward.