I feel wistful.

Wistful of talents I do not have,
and places I have not been.
But then I remember,

Time is limitless if I choose it to be.

So many choices, decisions, prospects,
endless opportunities.
And while others experience,
I flounder.

In the inbetween state,
tiptoes up to the edge
but not daring to jump,
not yet.

Scared of what truth the idealised holds in store for me.

I am to find m self in the embrace of a lover,
skin to skin.
Or in a high so high the sighs of my yesterdays are forgotten.
Or am I to find myself always expecting, craving more.

Craving I had choosen different choices,
made different decisions,
followed different prospects.

All these endless opportunities,
but here I stand afraid.
Afraid to chance regret.
Afraid to chance wasted time.
Afraid to chance.

Afraid.