
Entry From the Diary of the Historian
Nov 3 · 1 min read
2063:06:11
Before this book was a book, it was a story. Before this story was a story, it was a dream, or something like a dream. And then a dream shared, and then a vision, and then a mirror of men’s souls, which remains today as it was then, a silver-glass-and-specular-reflecting pane smashed upon the shore of a New World by the force of ambition untempered, a flurry of sun-sparkled fragments whirling up in ocean spray, each jagged shard of hope a piece of the large scale longing that determines —
And so it is that they who seek a fabled land beyond an ever-receding horizon are like fools forever looking back in search of Destiny.
