Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

Last Chance #7

To lick or to leave, a bunch of somewhat useless bones.
the reptilian jaw to bite a crunchy wrong, the other side of the brain that was left alone to pre-decide a course of action when the days are tightened and the soul is fastened.
Digging for answers in desert midways of lost trails to find old waters of wisdom in the arid oasis that doesn’t offer luxurious essentials for the doppelgängers but perhaps a perfect excuse to spend a romantic weekend with uninvited, unfriended Stoic guests.
Welcome to my slim chance, welcome not welcome home not home we better move on, better, best, a test, greater rock to carry up the hill with brother-like Sisyphus.
A chance to train.
Empire-building spirit-deteriorating but we must go again.
The slavish Epictetus whispered in my ear something wise, I was too busy sand-grinding teeth so I couldn’t hear a damn thing.
Not even my breath that was missing.
Missing out on life.