Here I stand, attempting to navigate crossroads that are not indicated on my map. The beginning of each is surrounded in a dust-cloud of mystery, with only a slight image able to permeate the deliberate cloak of deception. I have sat at this point for quite some time now, unabashedly afraid of what my choice will bring. I know the more time spent aimlessly occupying this space will only modify the outcome of each road that much more. I know not the effects my actions have; it is not even discernable whether the effects are positive or negative. I have seen others pass by as if there was no decision to be made. Likewise, I have seen people lay in the same stupor I possess. With time, these people will come and go: regaling me with their life-long story of defeats, and then announcing they have made a decision and will carry on forward. There seems to be a void near where my voice is produced, and my tongue gets heavy. I try to explain to the traveler how much they have influenced my life, how I would be less of a person had they not so conveniently occupied the same space as I have. The sounds cannot fill the void nor maneuver my iron tongue, and I am reduced to tears. This scenario is the most familiar I have, and it is no surprise to me when all I can utter is “goodbye.” I want to desperately fill that gap of silence with every slice of knowledge I have acquired, I want to be able to put every feeling into word. My inability to do so results in a calming frustration that resets any progress I have made. Slowly, I begin to realize my stagnated existence is causing the endless and predictable loops of possibility to occur. By staying at these crossroads, I have met many people. Where they all came from, and what decisions they made to arrive at my space, even they could not tell me. I study them; imagine myself as them, trying to further my understanding of myself. Together we become a superior version of our individual selves. As this process of emotion happens it already feels like a memory. Soon enough they have left, only to be replaced by yet another traveler with yet another similar plight. I ask myself, is it because of my existence that these travelers continue to pass by? Does my stagnation change some variables that turn other people to find and pass by me? Are they my fate-appointed back-ups who are enduring the grooming process? Or is this just a race that requires conviction of opinion in order to win? I find that while an answer is unable to form, both scenarios have the travelers benefiting from the aloof attitude I have to my surroundings. Perturbed from such an invasion of thought and a bit annoyed at having not established the situation earlier, I start to walk down my chosen path. At first my legs are numb and I feel as I am trudging through molasses. I keep an internal dialogue to remind myself which foot goes next, all the while attempting to convince myself the path I chose was correct and things will become better.
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Created on 6-3-08
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Story Rating G
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