I’m standing at a fork road…
One is a path which I promised myself I’d never ever take, at least not in this lifetime. But here I am hesitating and staring longingly at the oh-so-familiar figure of the person who has somehow managed to earn a small space in my heart, beckoning me to take one step towards him and into his welcoming arms. I tear my eyes away with much difficulty and look past him.
All I can see is row after row of the most exquisite chrysanthemums. The brightness of the yellow is so overwhelming that it’s on the brink of being either pleasant or harmful to the eyes. Scanning the sea of yellow, a flash of brightest crimson made my heart leap. But it disappears as quickly as it had come, did I imagine it? Above, the grey-white clouds seem to be in two minds about the weather, in a dilemma whether or not to shower the chrysanthemums below with rain. Beyond the field of flowers, at the furthest point that my eyes can reach, is the silhouette of a sturdy bridge across a perilous plunge, accompanied by the swooshing sounds of a raging rapid.
The other is a foggy path with a promise of all I’ve ever dreamed of, my jackpot. That same tall figure is still standing there, but on this path I can barely make him out because he’s that much further down the road and the mist is making it hard for me to distinguish whether his expression is one of gaiety or hostility.
As my eyes adjust themselves to the gloom, I can see the same ravenous river in the distance, but much closer. Here, there is no bridge; instead a giant, ancient elk tree looms just on the edge of the cliff. Its thick, tangled roots deprave its surroundings of any water, causing small cracks to appear on the ground. The black sky is brewing up a storm it seems, spitting lightning and growling thunder. Beyond the river is the entrance to a cave which, at first glance, seems to be long and endless. But as I squint my eyes I can see a shine, a sparkle, a slither of light at the end of it. A glimmer of hope.
…I’m standing at a fork road.