In a world where the grass is always greener on the unpainted fence, one must ask: what is the sound of one hand clapping?
Consider the paradox of choice: is it better to choose between many or to choose not to choose at all? A decision tree with a single leaf, you might say.
Echoing footsteps in empty halls, the ghosts of decisions unmade may whisper sweet nothings into the void. Do they hear themselves, or are they merely pretending?