What is our painful memory of life but the melted wax artefacts of so many errors and regrets, sometimes softly revisited and sculpted into little candles of light as lanterns by which we might then see the long road that ever lies before us? What is a hope of future happiness but that distant shore towards which we must all always swim, at times alone and in a chill darkness of uncertainty that haunts us through life? Our past does not define us and it is only as an internalised gaze or fear of other people’s judgements that we are in any sense confined by it.
Daedelus Kite 