Numerous years ago, a traveler awoke within the walls of a towering stone maze. The walls reached the clouds above, open to the air and the elements. They were slick with ivy, and the stone crumbled in many places. There were what seemed like endless corridors, as is typically so in a maze, with dirt and foliage lining the sinuous paths.
Most days, the traveler struggled to navigate the twisting and turning halls of the maze. He followed paths he believed would lead to the exit, only to be denied by dead ends. He found shortcuts within the decrepit walls, only to find they were meaningless detours. The maze often felt endless, walls anticipating his every step and routes dissolving into nothingness. The stone corridors seemed illusory, false in front of his eyes; the exit a fading dream, like chasing an unreachable horizon. He wished he could close his eyes and reawaken in front of the end. But, alas, it was a maze. One is rarely sure of their place within a maze.
The clouds above would open up, periodically. Rain would come pouring down, violently splattering on the stone walls. Dirt pathways turned into mud, the traveler’s clothes begrimed and his aspirations more so. The ivy drank, and the traveler could do nothing but wait for the torrent to cease. Eventually, the sky would wipe away its straggling tears, and the storm would fade as all storms do. The sun would beam down on the glistening stone, and the traveler would continue forward, his sodden clothes as heavy as his sighs of relief. There would, of course, be storms to come. There always were, but the traveler relished the calm nonetheless.
There were others, besides the traveler. Most disappeared into the serpentine passageways, never to be seen again. Some, like the winding ivy, weaved in and out of the traveler’s path. Perhaps he would catch them at an intersection, or huddle with them during a downpour. Companionship was a boon nearly greater than the exit. It was a distinct, visceral feeling, to love within the maze – a paradox, for one would be bold to assume they truly loved someone in a place conceived on the notion of the unknown. This did not stop the traveler from trying, but the maze had a way of losing people like this, with its endless divergences. Or maybe the traveler did that himself.
On days after a storm, the sky would give way to blue, and the traveler could see gulls gliding through the air. From down in the maze, they were but specks dotting the firmament. Some perched on the stone wall’s flat tops, hundreds of feet up, absently glancing at the traveler down below. The traveler thought they seemed purposeless, directionless, flying everywhere and nowhere at once. Or perhaps he simply knew they were freer than he would ever be, chasing a goal he could not see for reasons he did not truly comprehend.

There came a day when the traveler finally completed the maze. There, in front of him, was the exit he had so desperately longed for. There was no moment of epiphany, however. No realization that the maze was indeed never a chamber to escape from – something inside the traveler signaled that he had known this all along. Neither was there a minotaur to slay, or perhaps be slain by. Rather, the traveler was just surprised. He was surprised that he had not realized the dead ends, with their meandering detours, or the storm clouds and thunderous rain, for what they truly were. He was surprised that he had not done everything he could to know those people he had wanted to know, those whom he would never see again. Most of all, he was surprised that he had not only reached the unreachable horizon, but had done so so swiftly. Hadn’t he just woken up moments ago?