Tiny Details Imperceptible To Us Decide Everything!

I Wonder Now Whether Inner Coldness And Desolation May Not Be The Pre-condition For Making The World Believe, By A Kind Of Fraudulent Showmanship, That One's Own Wretched Heart Is Still Aglow.

The More Images I Gathered From The Past, I Said, The More Unlikely It Seemed To Me That The Past Had Actually Happened In This Or That Way, For Nothing About It Could Be Called Normal: Most Of It Was Absurd, And If Not Absurd, Then Appalling.

And So They Are Ever Returning To Us, The Dead. At Times They Come Back From The Ice More Than Seven Decades Later And Are Found At The Edge Of The Moraine, A Few Polished Bones And A Pair Of Hobnailed Boots.

It Seems To Me Then As If All The Moments Of Our Life Occupy The Same Space, As If Future Events Already Existed And Were Only Waiting For Us To Find Our Way To Them At Last, Just As When We Have Accepted An Invitation We Duly Arrive In A Certain House At A Given Time.

Tiny Details Imperceptible To Us Decide Everything!