Parley By Intention

"You don't have to." These words become the pathway, which extends everywhere but where trodden.

"All must be mapped, accomplished, perfect, permanent."

These perspectives merge, waves rippling between. After a number of processes, a single remaining order rings out all along The Watchtower:

"Try."

In the gray near-black of the innumerable paths never chosen, this single word rises as a note above/within each mote of the path not taken, occupying the space, permeating the time, and nothing more. To each their own command, resonant and omnilateral, so that all is mapped from its own perspective and angle, but none must walk the paths that they choose not traverse.

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