A cursor is a blinking turn signal. Blink blink blink, turn left on the one-way street to Nap-town neighborhood in Smoke City. Blink blink blink, turn right to the freeway and living life well. There is no going back and straight ahead is a walled-off dead end.
You move the cursor and turn. You live that life.
A cursor is not a map. A cursor is not an off-road route. A cursor is your pause in a quiet car. A cursor is your lane on the blank page. Your choices are what the cursor leave in its wake.
You blinked and turned again and now you’re vividly awake.
Where you’ve been are fireworks, beautiful and angry. There are tears of loss and love. But you have seen the cursor blinking again.
You can only keep going, never back.
You have seen these fireworks and cried those tears, but now you feel them. You feel their weight, their purpose.
You look down and in your palms is the roadmap.
