Arising like storms in the desert— generated by humidity or love, I know not— but tangible to be almost grasped in my hands like ropes that hold or strangle, but confusion reigns regardless, and I am lost. One is like a Greek goddess, beauty so perfect no mere mortal could be so attractive, and in her Hellenistic vanity, she wandered the earth after the fall of Ancient Greece, moving from country to country, empire to empire, culture to culture, hoping to be admired for her beauty. The other is the embodiment of Mother Nature, grounded, like Te Fiti resting in the ocean, mature like aged wine or liquor, immovable when storms arise in the desert, able to withstand lightning strikes with the heat of a billion suns, a testament to the lasting power of the universe. Both have their merits—their strengths—and neither is necessarily better than the other, but when faced with this choice, my mind rots inward, corroding like eons-old batteries until I have no choice to make because it’s not mine to make—right?—like I’m predetermined by some incorporeal fate regulating human life— a tightrope juxtaposition in direct contradiction to everything in which I believe—what is true? I walk a thin line with mile-deep canyons on either side, and one misstep on the precarious edges will lead to a downfall—not as cataclysmic as the betrayal I’ve suffered, but a downfall nonetheless— that I myself have created, just like I create meaning for myself—creatio ex nihilo—yet I cannot discover the meaning of this separation— this thesis and antithesis doesn’t seem to mix, but can I discover the synthesis I crave? I exist in confusion and thoughts ad infinitum, a complex labyrinth I’m unable to navigate, as I weather storms that rise out of the desert, and battle lightning bolts and flood-level rains, but all still with the hope that clarity can be found.