The Silver Trumpet Brayed

That tragedy of being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel even as the tunnel walls collapse around me.

But of course there is that fear too that the last sprint towards that light is powered not by the will to win, but by the will to escape these prison walls, and that fear too that this is not really a prison at all but nothing more than a shadow which, when the morning comes, will disappear as surely as it appeared a matter of hours ago.

posted by Weasel @ 4:06 PM