Things unfold. But, things, also, echo. Back and forth. The beginning and the end, together. Music. Like a thread, going from there, to here. Or, like a balloon, which is, of course, a captured breath: held, inside, to carry forward, that energy, to, somewhere, else. I always thought, the balloon floating in the sky, was like a lost breath. A body, someone's. And if you were to find that balloon, open it up, slowly, you would receive, that breath. To let it, out slowly, against one's own lips. To inhale, that other breath, that had floated, from somewhere. Or, to hear it. Suddenly. A voice.