It's something ambiguous, like the punk rock first few bars of your favorite song, during which any listener could point left or right, to a minor or major key; but I try not to buy in. It wouldn't suit me to let these thoughts fill my head, to walk on eggshells yet again. I sprung the first trap right under my feet while I was standing next to you...Looking up in that awkward angle so that I was looking up and maybe a little left or right, still avoiding the signs pointing to barren futures that haven't sown their seeds into the earth just yet. I try not to count on fate, what is supposedly written in the stars. Because I can feel the wet droplets of tears, either of joy or sorrow (that accurséd left or right) clenched in my fist on a quiet Friday night when you're not here. That is to say, I can feel the space beneath my sheets that is minus one of you. I am solitary for now, and I carry on down my paths diverging-yes, left or right-because I want to follow you. Not to fall. I'm still afraid of that part. Maybe further down the road, the fog will roll away. I carry on to meet you, at the fork of the road someday.