A mediocre poem

A line of mercury separates us
What is it? A gulf, an abyss?
Is it her name, or his face?
Or the coming fork on the road?

We struggle, to find our feet
To bridge the gap, to meet
We meet, we part
In the chiaroscuro of our art

And when we part again,
Bearing shards of incomplete pain
I write mediocre poetry, hiding
From the mocking prose, brazen and bold

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There are no wrong choices, there’s only the fear of making the wrong choices.

I find limiting my choices to be an opportunity to let go of the worries about making the wrong choices, and to focus on enjoying the choices I do make. As I’ve explored scarcity, I’ve been left with this one truth: every path I take is perfect.

Leo Babauta (Zen Habits)