While I can see the others in the labyrinth, it doesn’t feel like we’re in the same room, or even the same space. They seem worlds apart and lost in their own vectors. I’m struck for a fleeting moment by the overwhelming sense of loss.

happening. Everything that might have occurred in our past did occur, only in another universe.

What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened. —T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

Has your life’s work caused anything but pain?” He says, “Every moment, every breath, contains a choice. But life is imperfect. We make the wrong choices. So we end up living in a state of perpetual regret, and is there anything worse? I built something that could actually eradicate regret. Let you find worlds where you made the right choice.”

denouement of this urban wilderness.

“Forty ampoules left. Half are yours. That gives us each twenty chances to get this right. What do you want to do?” “I’m not sure. All I know at this point is that I’m not going back to my world.” “So do you want to stay together, or is this goodbye?” “I don’t know how you feel, but I think we still need each other. I think maybe I can help you get

“We all live day to day completely oblivious to the fact that we’re a part of a much larger and stranger reality than we can possibly imagine.”

What a miracle it is to have people to come home to every day. To be loved. To be expected. I thought I appreciated every moment, but sitting here in the cold, I know I took it all for granted. And how could I not? Until everything topples, we have no idea what we actually have, how precariously and perfectly it all hangs together.

We’re all just wandering through the tundra of our existence, assigning value to worthlessness, when all that we love and hate, all we believe in and fight for and kill for and die for is as meaningless as images projected onto Plexiglas.