Which Way Will I Go?

Stepping stones across the river of my life, most treacherous underfoot with slime of seasons past. I stand alone, surrounded by the current of my thoughts, wondering, feet wet, if the gap ahead will prove a step too far, if she will take me to the swirling depths of life’s unknowns.

I’ve come this far, crossed many thresholds, ploughed furrows through the muck of time, yet now I find I’m trapped, afraid to take the plunge.

I answer to myself. Decisions must be mine alone. Do I move or do I stay? Am I content, at peace with the rock I’m on? Have I left enough to make a mark, to leave a space that will be noticed?

Scars, deep scraped in walls of souls, litter the landscape of past. I’ve weathered storms created by commitment’s fear, lingered longer than invited, jumped and fled before bursting dams took away my power of choice.

But now I stand alone, connected by tendrils borne of duty, debt, and memory. The river of my life flows past, its latent, glaring strength a timely threat, a warning not to dwell, procrastinate, deny, or try to cross reality’s breadth, expanse, because she’s watching all the time, waiting, hoping, ready, to take me.

Which way will I go?