Hand-in-hand we walked. I had one last quick glance behind. The slanting rays of the sun mostly obscured the path in the distance, leading away from the fork and winding away in a different direction from where we came from.
Once the sun sets — maybe once, maybe many times more — I will succeed in forgetting the winding path and where it led. A place that exists, but it is not shown any map. A destination we never need to try to reach again, for I’ll never know the way there after that sun set.
Our current path draws us relentlessly ahead. Cities, towns, villages, and forests appear and disappear. Same as people. The winding path is reclaimed by the forest of life. It ends in a clearing of sorts. Under the foliage are old boxes, locked.