Crossroads.
This is terrifying. The stakes are high, or so we tell ourselves. There’s nothing like finite time glued to a feeling that we’ve wasted too many years. Sometimes we aim higher than we ought, and the miss stings as the bullet circles around and blows by our face as a warning. But a warning of what? The bullet has a limited vocabulary, and our understanding is fallible.
Breathe. The heart rate shouldn’t be this high. We are particles of the cosmos, albeit stirred up beyond what is necessary.
Just breathe…