History

In the bottom of an old box
Back in the hollows of the basement
Is my journal from
oh, so many years ago.

I read old joys
Old loves, old choices.

Paths taken, dark paths ignored
Paths avoided on purpose
Dusty paths missed until too late
All lead to the path I live on now.

A lovely path, shaded,
comfortable.
Dappled with sunshine
And laughter. And joy.

An adventure, a path to explore
One that goes on
as far as the eye can see.
But no more.

Still, in those journals,
Other paths reveal themselves,
maybe not so shaded, so dappled
Maybe unsafe in so many dark places.

Friends, I see them,
walking the hillsides nearby
And I wave, Sometimes I wonder
Is their path better? Smoother? Sunnier?
Do they miss me? Do I miss them?

But this is my path.
My journal.
I may not have always chosen right.
But I chose well.

Not just for me
For loved ones,
For those who needed me
And those who did not.
And for me.