Paris metro

Life is complex, and yet, not so complex.

Life is mysterious, and yet, more mysteries desire to be solved.

Life is beautiful, and yet, ruthless, untamed as fire.

Life, in its simplest form, pure and unadulterated, stripped down to the first layer,

Pulling rags away from the mummy’s skin.

Life. A babbling brook or raging river. Of decisions.

Choices made for good or for bad. Lives altered by the course we take.

Should we go left? Shall we go right? What becomes of our lives if we choose fight over flight, but never do battle?

Are our lives validated by our choices, or rendered useless by those whose choices do not mirror our own?

What of those who cannot or will not decide? Lives hanging in a precarious state. Afraid of falling short.

It is funny, in a sad, pitiful way. We are afraid to take action. To step into the roles we play, for others, the directors, control us.

Still we live. Still we choose. Never mind who has control.

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