A path. One cleared. One known. One loved.
Until it ends.
A giant chasm.
And no bridge. Possibly it’s under construction and there’s no completion date in sight. A project left under the control of others.
Standing at the edge of the cliff, staring at the darkness, yelling into the black hoping for an answer. But hearing only echoes.
The echoes are hollow. Meaningless. Easily crumbling into nothing. Leaving emptiness. Leaving hurt.
Standing. Waiting. An option, one that stabs, one that takes pieces of soul as payment.
In frustrated silence.
In disappointed tears.
Or turning to the wilderness of tangled chaos, of fear, of unknown…
And forging a new road.
Stand. Easy. Easy to sit. Easy to let hope die.
Because of hope. Because of belief. Because of movement.
Into the fray.
The old path not forgotten, merely paused. The bridge will appear. Ready to be crossed. The adventure, one to be cherished.
But until then.
New roads to find. Cutting through the mess of ideas and struggling to pave a trail. Frustration, one chosen. The hammer for building bridges in hand. The power of moving forward burning bright.
Stand at the end of the road.