The fate of a story that remains unread is similar to the fate of a passenger train that no one patronizes, because eventually both are quietly and unceremoniously consigned to the scrapheap of total obscurity.

Reality is that rails rust and ink fades.
Tracks ripped up and pages torn out.
Wood rots whereas paper disintegrates,
Both forgotten by the passage of time.

Likewise, there's not much difference between an untold story and an unread book but there is a difference. An untold story shall never be known whereas the story in an unread book at least has a faint-hope chance of becoming known, even if only by one other somewhere, one day.

Therefore the lights stay on, this station kept open, so why not stopover and consider a ride on the End of This Line?

You're invited to visit and welcome to board at leisure.

Whether long or short to here or there that's near and far, wherever life's travels take you... simply enjoy the journey.



Deo gratia