Very often and now, the past has come, revisited and gone to a place where a map I conjured, doesn't resemble his face. I'm not here to relive the memories you linger in my head and I've loved enough to hurt that it's time to diverge to the roads less taken, without you. I know there is on copious occasions, I’ve shouted the truth only to be deafened to what I had to say but you are no longer that broiling pit that lies on my stomach, the synonym of my worry, each day.

In fact, possibilities linger longer than people who stumble around in a daze, of a drunken stupor. Possibilities to achieve my dreams, possibilities to only ever want,more tomorrow than I wanted today, and possibilities to ache, for a silent opening in the chapter of my book, on the perfect page with the perfect line.

Which brings to remind me that through achieving all these possibilities, I long to run wild in the forest of my own power, to feel like myself again and I can place every other priority on hold to pour my soul on my graceful mediums of the written word.

I'll continue to pray for a sparkle of hope to interrupt the screech of a frustrating melody that’s feared to come. Till then, following the path and nothing more. The door I see might just disappear like the whistling oak.
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