Crossroads in A Beautiful Land

Ah, The Word. By your nature complex, even in the beginning, but what of the end? Is there a path where you, the carrier of both reaper and plowman, celebrate in fields alongside? If you are both God and with God, how would scales balance? Please pardon my blindness in this regard; this feels like an eclipse which has long lingered, finally waning. 

Does it seem silly to write to you? I seek a wordless manner which offers such complex tools with which to convey my message, over this cat's cradle rearrangement of your puzzle pieces (nothing comes to mind, now). Alas, I have only the tools that I have been given, in spades, spades which I have then used to bury the seed of communication between us that it might bloom and bear fruit. 

My eyes dilate to meet the stars. It feels as though faint music might be heard, perhaps though isolated to my head. I remember the keys, and wonder if such an easy harmony embedded was you or I scooching a bit. 

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