Something

As I was sitting trying to write a few words on my screen, I couldn’t help but question what I was doing. Was it really worth spending this much time writing a few words, sentences – hell, paragraphs maybe – that someone might or might not read?

Then I burst into laughter.

Instead of going through this tedious process, I might as well focus on inventing something…something useful for the world to use.

Something anyone would pay big to have. Something that would make me famous and buy my ticket to stardom.

Something that would probably have fancy lights and sparks and glow-in-the-dark motifs.

I could be the first to invent that thing: I would be known as the pioneer of the something! A visionary, an innovator of my time! The promoter of an idea that will live on for generations to come and serve as the backbone of many more ‘somethings’ to be produced!

But instead, I had to settle for a dark shady room. I was out of sight, staying low, consumed by thoughts that were to be crafted into words. But would they turn into great words? Words that would be printed or read?

Probably. Most likely not. No.

Would they turn into words that would be appreciated?

I wouldn’t count on it.

So I stood at a crossroads – two different paths, one of which offered me the certainty and security of an attractive yet gullible life. The other, however, was darker, more dangerous, filled with danger and uncertainties, with possibly no end or escape.
I was mocking myself by saying I desired the former.

It was hilarious to even fathom that possibility. Its mere conception was silly. And the funniest part was actually believing I had the luxury of choosing.

For the crossroads I was looking at – the one where the two roads intersected – I saw it, way deep down the line. I could make it out from the shadows engulfing my eyesight.

From where I was standing, the road was already swallowed deep in darkness, filled with mystery and haunted by strange voices of uncertainties. I was already on the path sewn for me – knowing there was no possible return – staring back at the remote possibility of imagining ‘what if’?

But there would be none of it. I was slain by my destiny to conjure nothing more than mere words. Words that, in this world, have often found it hard to break free from their white frame and sink into the wells of logic and imagination. Words that, in spite of their power, have become powerless to inspire creation. Words that, sometimes, have been unable to separate from my thoughts and appear on my screen.

So how did I find myself here? How did I get lost and conflicted and started walking along this fine line? Why was I going where few have ever gone – and fewer returned?

It would be too simple and banal to say I didn’t know. Or rather, I don’t know.

Yet like in most things, when faced with uncertainty, the only way to look is up – and in my case, plagued by doubt and fear, the only way to something lay ahead.

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