Is time like a train? Is its path fixed, or do many tracks diverge, even running parallel from time to time? Can a train only run one way on the rails? Can it be derailed? What then?
For the most part, those questions seem academic now. But not every goosebump on my skin comes from the air conditioning in my sleeping compartment, and the tears behind my eyes have hardly any excuse at all.
Now the night outside my window is simply, impenetrably black. So it is sometimes. And my hope does not change.