all the words come to me in a rush. they are different beginnings to the different stories of my life - stories that i may write or chose not to write - then there are the stories that i wish i had written but never did.
i realise, now more so than ever, that the decisions i have to make will make all the difference today and for tomorrow. it terrifies me, much like the shadows cast by a flickering flame when i am by myself. its there, then its gone and then when i least expect it, a careless word from a friend, an image, and i'm thrown right back in to the dense uncertainty. all i want is something tangible, one clarity, i only ask for one. is it too much to ask for, this one certainty, this one assurance? there are no answers for me; only questions, and i grow tired of them.
