A journey can be counted in inches or miles, days or years , ease or hardship, today or forget about it.
A thing is either built or never will be.
But once built it is done.
And once done it’s fulfilled.
Oh, new journeys can be had, for sure, but they are never the same as old adventures.
As old ventures never compare to new undertakings.
The once are rotted and forgot, weeds grow up and cover, rust sets in.
Usefulness always fades.
Paint always chips.
Maintenance is never done until it lapses and then its too late.
The end always feels impossible, it’s never expected, until it comes. Then it sits like a permanent feature that will never move, ever again, forever stuck in the ether of the past.