Merriam-Webster defines inexorable as “not to be persuaded, stopped, or moved; relentless.”
(Yeah, I went there. Just go with it.)
This word has been on my mind a lot lately. I don’t know exactly why — and that’s a lie if I ever told one. I’ve got this phrase stuck in my head, “The inexorable march of time.”
I’ve spent my entire life going on drives and trips with my family, looking out the window and feeling my heart leap at the sight of abandoned homes and wondering about the people who once lived in them even though those weren’t really homes at all, usually they were just sheds. My favorite stories were always about discovering secret ruins or ancient treasure — not for fame but for the knowledge that you had seen something nobody else ever had.
And now I’m 27. I own a truck with four-wheel drive. I have a job and a smartphone with GPS. You see where this is going.
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