I am on a one-way path it seems. And I keep plodding and plodding towards the horizon and I know there is light there. I sense it. I feel it. I know it. The destination grows ever closer. And I try not to arrive there any sooner than I need to. I know when I get there the arrival will be bittersweet and full of sorrow. What is 'freedom', anyway?
I am on a one-way path it seems. I've been on it for thirty-three years. I am heading ever onward towards my destiny. And where that lies is somewhere beyond the blue. I sense it. I feel it. I know it's there. I know it, and it gives me the incentive to move on. The faith in believing it's there and attainable is what motivates me to scatter bits of light here and there in the darkness, pinpoint beacons that will take others to my destiny, too.
I am on a one-way path it seems. I've been a motherless daughter for twenty-one years. I pick up the pieces of her puzzle as I stumble here and there. I turn the pieces this way. And that. And I think some day I may know my mother for the woman she was. I sense it. I feel it. I know it. And it causes me to be an open book for my children and grandchildren. I want every piece of my puzzle to fit. No treading the water, no wallowing in confusion, for them. They will know me as I am.
I am on a one-way path it seems. And I've used the lessons I learned in my youth as I journey along that path. Retrospect is every bit as helpful as hindsight. I sense it. I feel it. I know it. And it causes me to put the blame on myself. And to feel pride in myself. Depending on the new lesson learned. For we are always, always learning. Always. No one, truly, when it comes down to the end, is responsible for our decisions except we ourselves.
I am on a one-way path it seems. And sometimes I've tried to go back to revisit certain points along the way. It is not a wise thing to do. I sense it. I feel it. I know it. You can go home again but home is never the way you remembered it. You can stand there on the sidewalk in front of your childhood home. And it is the same. Yet not. Only the ghosts from your past are there. Not you. You left. And those ghosts float around you, and engulf you, and you find yourself turning away. You find yourself stumbling back to the one-way path, struggling to get your footing back. There are slippery slopes and brambles that will reach out to snag you sometimes. Wolves and hounds. Dark corners where you can't see what's ahead of you. But you find...you always find...that flame of light ahead of you. It calls you on. And you find yourself forever heading towards it.