Crossroads

He sits in the darkness on top of the bed, back against the wall pondering the fate that awaits his life.  The streetlamp reflects the mood inside the room, piercing the darkness with its dull, throbbing light.  His hand with a cigarette rests on top of his knee, sending rivulets of smoke up towards the ceiling, hypnotic and psychedelic.

"How did this happen?" he asks himself.  Everything as in everything in his life has become almost expendable.  How could emotions provide such a powerful force to push you in an all new different direction? Weren't these the same emotions that he swore never to allow into his life?  The  future looks vague. There is no certainty there, only a thick fog, that won't  allow him to peek into what could be. Yet, inside of him is a voice, whispering at first, building momentum to a near shout as the seconds pass.  "Jump" it says. "Take the plunge. You owe it to yourself to do this"

The clock pierces the silence with its rythmic ticking. He is troubled with these pronouncements.  Soul ripped apart to choose whether to leave the life he knows now or go on another adventure. A journey that neither has clarity of purpose nor certainty of outcome.

He rises from the bed.  Stubs the cigarette out in an almost full ashtray and takes his jacket from the chair.  He has made up his mind. Tonight, he goes to her.