Once upon a time...

. < 1 min read

He was only turning off the road and onto the long driveway now, taking his time as he was prone to doing. He was what one may call a “dilly-dallier.” No pebble in his path went un-kicked, nor any weed un-plucked. It wasn’t that he was particularly fascinated by nature and its remnants; it was more that he was apt to getting caught up in his own mind, which had the effect of making his legs move slower. He’d once tried to explain this to Wendy, tried to illustrate to her how the more colourful the narrative that played out in his head, the more engulfing and debilitating it was. But she hadn’t understood. And after a few more tries that led to nothing more than variations of the response “snap out of it,” he gave up trying to explain entirely.

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