How could I ever know that the story continues beyond this page? When I’m reading such a riveting tale, I’m always eager to know what comes next. What if it all ends when I’ve just reached that door, behind which lies the answer, to all my questions? I hurry now, lest my lamp run out of oil, before I’ve passed through that door. I shield my flame, lest it be extinguished by my relentless pace. It burns steady, without a flicker, and by its light, I see the ever approaching door. There’s no saying when I’ll pass through.

But what’s this insistent voice in my head?
It tells me to slow down, that I’m already the answer, here and now, and beyond that door.
It tells me that I might as well stop and bask in the fullness of my flame, as it is the door that approaches and takes me in, that I’ll find myself burning still, on the other side of it all?