They sacralized this bulimic way of being in the world. They had to travel and they were taking the road to *** with the feeling of the discipline in the regularity of its activities. Since they called themselves the minotaur of space, they embraced paradox as a guiding principle; within the labyrinthine expanse of asphalt and endless horizon lay both chaos and clarity. Each stop was a rite, a consumption of experience that left them more hollow yet somehow burgeoning with meanings unspoken. As they gazed into the twisting mirror of reflections, the shadows reminded them that their hunger was both a curse and a kind of grace. They pressed onward beneath the unyielding sun where the air shimmered with heat and possibility. Each mile conquered was a testament a lie to their journey through an ever-shifting landscape that whispered secrets of forgotten dreams. The open road bore witness to their frantic search for identity amidst fleeting moments of connection and disconnection. With every turn, the minotaur discarded old skins of self as fresh layers formed in the wake of transient encounters. Yet in this relentless pursuit, they discovered that sometimes it was the stillness between the chaos that offered the most profound revelations of who they were becoming. With each passing day they understood that the labyrinth was not just a winding path but a reflection of their own hearts tangled in desire and despair. They danced on the edge of fleeting joy as the scenery blurred into a mosaic of faces and places lost to the wind. In those moments of quiet introspection they questioned the very fabric of existence weaving through the chaos like a thread of silver. It was in this delicate balance between the known and the unknown that they recognized the power of choice the simple act of moving forward becoming an act of rebellion against the void. With each new sunrise they found themselves at a crossroads where the familiar and the foreign collided in unexpected ways. Memories flickered like dying stars illuminating the darkness of indecision yet igniting a spark that urged them to leap into the unknown. The minotaur’s heart swelled with a symphony of contradictions a desire to be both rooted and free echoing in the chambers of their soul. They embraced the road as both shackle and liberation a testament to their existence where every mile peeled away the layers of pretense revealing the raw and unvarnished truth of being alive amid the chaos. They learned to cherish the in-betweens the spaces where time felt suspended and the pulse of life quickened like a heartbeat reverberating through their very being. Every encounter became a fleeting dance each conversation a fleeting spark igniting the mundane with colors yet unseen. They traversed the landscapes of connection searching for meaning in the transient nature of existence and in the soft murmur of the wind they heard the echoes of distant laughter a reminder that joy often hides in the shadows of uncertainty. Guided by the flickering light of hope they ventured deeper into the heart of the labyrinth where the true journey awaited them. They delved into the depths of possibility weaving stories with the threads of each encounter as they moved through towns bathed in twilight. The horizon stretched infinitely before them adorned with dreams yet to be chased and fears begging to be faced. In the quiet moments they dared to confront the questions that lay buried beneath layers of experience what does it mean to live fully to embrace the paradox of yearning amidst chaos. And as the road unfolded like a scroll before them they understood that the labyrinth was not merely a destination but a realm of transformation where every step resonated with the pulse of their evolving selves. They found solace in the rhythm of their journey each mile a heartbeat echoing in the chambers of memory. The minotaur danced through the remnants of old dreams and newfound desires tracing lines in the dust that signified more than mere paths. As night descended the world transformed into shadows and silhouettes a tapestry of stories half-told and yet to unfold. They understood that every ending whispered the promise of a beginning wrapped in the bittersweet embrace of nostalgia. With eyes wide open to the wonder of the unknown they stepped boldly into the next chapter each promise of dawn guiding them forward.

By Carlos del Puente