Choice of Chance

From this perfect place, we crawl. With tender toes and crimson knees, we find solace in the strength of our decision. This decision, perched so astutely on our back, reminds us that we embarked on this journey with honest eyes and a clear knowledge of what we were undertaking. Our smile, teeth twinkling in the east facing sunshine, exudes apprehension in the form of generous grinding. These aching legs, beaten bruised reminders of how far we’ve traveled to get here, glisten with the sheen of our sweat. We are channeling our concern through every fiber of our being. We are struggling to find our fate.

Home. It’s a center of comfort, epicenter of ease, a bright beacon in the night, a lighthouse luring in wayward travelers. Dancing from the corners of our corneas, this sheltered existence serenades like a siren, requesting our return to its arms. The relief of the routine, the miracle of the mundane is but a dream wished in vocal volley by most who linger lackadaisically here. This place, a shadowy specter, drifts outside of danger with perfect precision. It ignores spontaneous suggestion with the most innocent of gestures. Carefully, it crouches behind the tether of traffic, sneaking up unexpectedly on our easily eradicated hopes in an attempt to discourage our farfetched dreams. Tragically, we often obey; feeling consoled by the conclusion that this life, this location, is our permanent place...that there is no greater joy than this…

This place looms behind us; an easy escape. Should we turn around, sending smiles to the familiar faces with the rings of routine looping around them, and run into the awaiting embrace of the everyday? Or should we preserve into alien avenues surrounded by outsiders with the reward of our rigorous excursion being a mystery?