He took the path that led others nowhere and only he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. They warned him about the monsters he would encounter, the odds that he would face. And they laughed when he got scars while fighting dragons on his way. When he came back out of the tunnel, holding his sword, bleeding and the sun shining on his face, he became the tales they wanted to be. He became the reflections of what they always wanted to see themselves through. He became the warriors they had always imagined of. He's been trying to fit everything in, trying to get to the end before it's too late, but he can see now how badly he's deceived himself. Words do not allow such things. The closer you come to the end, the more there is to say. The end is only imaginary, a destination you invent to keep yourself going, but a point comes when you realize you will never get there. You might have to stop, but that is only because you have run out of time. You stop, but that does not mean you have come to an end.
