Once, in the realm of inevitable progress, a whisper of retreat echoed. Is not the present a loop of choices, retracing steps as one might in a labyrinth forged by time?
Consider the improbable journey of a single thought, diverging through the hedgerows of uncertainty. Would the backtrack illuminate a path obscured by the dust of relentless forward march?
Absurdism invites us to laugh upon the precipice of existential pondering. A cat outside dreams of a mouse that spirals inward, eternally chasing but always caught in the cycle of its own doing.
The wise turtle, proverbial as she is, reminds us: there are no wrong paths, merely directions that backtrack into oneself.
Detour or Deity?