The world ends and begins again

I must come to the conclusion that I am the only constant in my tales of woe. I twist and change month by month but will that ever be enough? I stretch.

My thoughts and beliefs change. But am I judged by them and not my actions? Or are past actions, told and retold. A spectre haunting my future as surely as it stalks my present. Should I stop acting from the heart? Much as doing so would pain me, is it the correct action? Should I be less open, less honest?

I feel like I’ve been traveling this road awhile and each time find myself back at these same crossroads. Marked by discarded bits of myself. Left mouldering on this lonely moon drenched road. Should I pick up one of those pieces? Become what I was and vowed to never be again. Or discard another layer and step forth again?

I wait and dither, hoping I’ll see something that will make the choice evident. Or failing that someone will show me a new path. But I’ve taken so many, maybe the same path can be made new by traveling it with someone? But who would that person be?

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