We travel down most of our life with a broken compass; not sure of what turns we are taking, which pit-stops are actually destinations, and sometimes, what is north or south.
After time passes us by, we look back at the map we left of our footprints, our loves and losses, and we can clearly see the directions we have walked in, and even which forks led us to where we currently reside.
There are those few rare moments, though, when time bends and flows around you; two separate lifetimes raging on either side of a single decision. You resist moving to extend this single moment, knowing that you must abandon the sights and sounds of one trail absolutely, to experience whatever awaits down your chosen path. And so you hold on. Tight. Maybe you try not to breath.
Until you can't out-wait time any longer, and the weight of what you already know you will do carries you into the current of your future, leaving you only a memory of what might have danced and sang and touched you along your untraveled life.
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