the most beautiful thing: pavement cracks
Stones. Billions of little stones piled thick and spread thin across uneven ground as if to hide the fault lines. Leveled, they are tumbled, some crumbled together a layer upon layers of would-be memories. And then in the heat of summer, they spray to fortify and the ground slowly hardens to a walkable black crust. Then the gloss of the tar. Then the yellow lines. Then we move point B from point A with no point but the inertia of wanting that thing that just wasn’t where we were.
And then over time, a miraculous truth pushes itself up. A miraculous and relentless truth pushes itself up through the piles and fortitude and glossing over and coded directions. And the truth will have its way. And the truth will crack every stretch of hiding. And the truth makes the most beautiful thing out of asphalt, don’t you think?