Two times in the last month I’ve gone to say “cart before the horse” and instead uttered “cart before the hearse.”
I’ve been known to like a guarantee. Despite a history of taking risks, only the lamppost sees the conditions of my vulnerability.
I thought of a coin. I thought of the moon. I thought of the side no one ever sees.
One who acts based on what that action will afford them retches their own liveliness. They hurry and scramble. And there is no risk in that trade.
My horse is the dark side of the moon. To neglect walking and tending those lands for clinging to face, light, is to burn, very much like an ant under a magnifying glass, in the relentlessness of guarantee.