They say these crossroads never lead anywhere but distractions on the way home. Yet here I am, standing on familiar soil, where so many lanes diverge.

Perhaps I should have taken that road to the left, where the river sings to the wandering deer.
Instead, I found myself on this path, tangled with memories of what could've been. Was it warmer where the sun was peeking through the trees?

To the right, there were whispers—a gentle promise of something beyond known boundaries. I have heard those whispers before, but they were always out of reach.

Instead, I remain here, journey on pause, wondering about the futures I’ve forsaken. Perhaps it’s the embrace of the familiar that holds me back, or the fear of discovering myself anew.

"You can never find yourself, only become yourself," echoes a voice from long ago.