"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference"
- The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
I've always been a quiet spirit, maybe even perhaps the embodiment of the question "What would you do if you were invisible?" I merely glance and glare in the distant crowd, us separated by a pond.
I tossed my last pinch of bread into the water, and I stood up as I sighed. Along the dirt path next to the vast rice fields, I stared into the skies. "18 years," I thought.
"Just how much longer..?" I thought too.
He imagined himself to be the grains of sand in a beach, dreaming someday to become a big strong chunk of stone. But what kind? It never crossed his mind. He imagined becoming each of every stone he found, but the mind's strong tide couldn't settle.
It may still cross his mind, but just how much longer?
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