maybe my literature teacher was right.

maybe people only turn to blogging or journaling or writing in a diary when they are extremely upset, depressed, or distraught. maybe i am one of those people. then again, i feel like there is so much i want to convey to whomever reads this; yet, i do not have the time (or the patience) to type anything at the moment.

but i will leave you with something. a very little something. from my fingertips to the screen; just for you.

i wonder where i'm going. with or without you. i wonder where you're going. with me or without me. i wonder what lies ahead, what lies beneath. i want to know what's next. for you, for me, for us. this is not impatience but rather curiosity. and before i continue, let me take note of the foolishness in not recognizing that the second breeds the first. that is to say: curiosity almost always sparks impatience. this sudden, desperate desire to move. to take a big step. to finally differentiate those gray areas of the map. those areas without borders. yes, sometimes we are forced to choose. this is how it's always been. always been for me, at least. but certainly one cannot choose anything without at least two choices. that is a fact. surely there is some statistical theorem that i refuse to acknowledge on account of my love for literature that proves this to be true. although it seems: no theorem or affidavit is required.

certainly one cannot choose without choices. that is simple fact, no signature required. no choices mean no choosing mean no moving. which means; i sit. quite happily in fact. waiting for the rest of this (the rest of us) to bud and blossom.

hang on.