Exposition Upon Death

It has only been a few days since I moved back from Ghana. In retrospect, time seems to have passed disturbingly quickly (which isn’t surprising, as they say that about practically everything).

It seems like a dream that manifests in the midst of the rising action, leaving me to fabricate the introduction, scramble to prepare for the climatic action, and then it ends so quickly that the conclusion seems not to exist at all and I still have no idea whether this dream was a comedy or a tragedy. Or nightmare, as it were. I suppose the truth is that it is both, because everything is, and it would seem so obvious as to be stupid, if it wasn’t also so complicated.

I may have learned more about human nature in the past year than I’ve learned in the previous 28 and I’ve certainly learned that the dramatic arc only exists, unadulterated, in a fabricated drama.

Endings are for the dead.

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