journal · prose


The present is constantly slipping away. An infinity of moments unfold through choice and push me ever onward into a future unknown. I watch the minutes slide by and glance back at the myriad of branching paths, see how decision has planted me here, and wonder what would have happened if I had chosen differently. Where would I be now? Who and what would I know? What, if anything, would be different? Does choice determine fate, or fate choice? But no matter, never mind, either way I must continue to believe that everything happens for a reason, be it fate or choice, even the most senseless pain and cruel heartache. That it will all eventually lead me to wherever it is that I belong. And that is faith. Because we are never allowed to see the picture in all of its entirety, the road from start to finish, the full landscape of our lives. Time is a river, each moment flowing swiftly into the next, the scenery ever-changing, just like us. Until one day we have seen what there is to see, have learned what we needed to learn, and have morphed into the final iteration of ourselves. And perhaps, once our story is completed, we will, at last, know the peace which we all so desperately long for.


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