Walking the Timeline

The path is less so a trail of cobbles than a rope between points vague and moving. Exiled from the beginning, only the endpoint carries hope yet while it is known, it is only conceptually so. That which lies ahead is yet to be struck, the die tumbles in the cast; odd or even, similarly unknown, maintaining a stable flux.

Gnarled and knotted, the rope below frays with possibilities; Schrödinger would approve. Each branch an opportunity passed or one yet to be taken. Choice surrounds at all times, suffocated by the options, till paralysis is all that remains. Frozen in motion, carried forth by convention, pained to remain in form.

To take the step, to uncertainty travel, a big decision to make; venturing forth, from numbingly stable, a single step to take. One small step, into unknown, or rather a different unknown to see; a new rope forms from knots beneath to carry to destiny.