Different ways (Grøndahl)
It's funny how you always talk about time as if it is a place in which you move back and forth. Perhaps it really is a place, the place where all days and hours coexist, perhaps you tell your story in order to find a way through memory's labyrinth of moments separated by oblivion. But there are different ways through its crooked paths, and if you go one way you cut yourself off from all the others. You make your way into the labyrinth while unrolling your ball of wool, and when it runs out you have only a loose end to hold on to. Slowly you return, tracking yourself down. Now and then you hear voices behind the thin walls, now and then you see a gleam of light where you thought there was only a wall, but you keep to the track, afraid of dropping the thread and getting lost. In my memory I am everywhere at the same time, but not quite the same from place to place. In my story I can only be in one place at each single moment if I am to find the way between the places and discover how I went from one to another.
Jens Christian Grøndahl, Silence in October
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