There is no contradiction more stark than time, which points its arrow along a single axis, bearing us, helpless, into the future while its timelines are mired with multitudes, contradictions, fateful encounters and chance happenings that abandon axes all together, operating in the vast expanse between coherence and truth.
How can I explain time without explaining its in-explicability? Time, in all its linearity, constantly rewrites itself, for in each moment, we overwrite the truths of the past with the truths of the present, re-crafting the world in our memory into something inexplicably new.
Memory knows nothing of the past. It is an invention of the present, a clever liar, a wraith passing by our window in the dead of night, bringing beautiful falsehoods disguised in the veil of truth, truths that smile at us with familiar faces we have never seen before.
We look backward to look forward, our necks bending to the past, straining against the moment, our eyes inventing the images that we will share with our children when we have finally shaped them into truths.