and what to do? and which way to walk? choices are thin, flimsy. here we are. what should we have done? which road to take? which road to make?

and we get off a plane, and the world is anew. we could go there, or here. we could walk down that road. turn that corner. stay here. walk over there. there are no paved roads, just traces, just the dust entering our sandals, and the desert night air, and the chill of weather, and that might just be it, nothing but the choices you choose to take on. we'll figure it out

lately I think: what happens at the end? do you look back and regret? will I be seventy, eighty, ninety, thinking that I should have done something else, lived looser, tighter, walked slower, faster, been a little more or less foolish, more hungry, more accepting, more flexible, more compassionate, more soft, more rigid? is there nothing but just endless questions? and there's nobody to tell you the right answer, just you and yourself, no magic answer, which is the worst part, and so of course you look at yourself and wonder what to do. only you know, only I know, only I know, only you know.