Empty House on the Left, Empty House on the Right

High in the sky, a single sun is afloat. Far out at sea, a small boat. In the middle, a rocky islet that has long stayed still. On its slope, a horse stands alone.

Below, there are two houses. One has shut its door and holds the days that have passed. The other, empty inside, waits for someone not yet come.

The stone walls around the two houses join and part, seem to block the way, then open it again.

Between them, an old person comes walking, leaning on a staff.

The sun is in the sky, the rock remains, the horse waits, the houses are empty.

Only the old person walks.

No one tells them which house is right. Behind the closed door, there is life. Inside the open, empty room, there is time not yet lived.

The old person stands before a fork in the road. But a road is not a road from the beginning.

The moment they move their body to one side, a single line becomes a path, and one empty house at last becomes their dwelling.

Life is not finding an answer already given, but choosing one empty place between two houses and filling it, little by little, with one's own warmth.