I choose to write. choose as an afterthought, a thought following the careful contemplation of things that were, that are, that may be. I choose mostly to reflect, to avoid the high of anticipation, and buffer instead for the reality. I never thought I would be here. sitting. sometimes in tears, others in smiles. I never thought I would be so afraid of choices I don’t think I have, and equally of the the choices I do. Busy, tired, tried, tested, confident, passionate, bruised, and recovered. I am me as I face the day. I am me. Strong, bold, daring. I am strong. They say it all the time. I am doing the right thing. I am strong. I am weak, I am tired, I am who I am, but who am I. Who am I to face the day, to mock the light and glow in the darkness. Who am I to assume a choice, a path, a way that may or may not  be. Who am I to enjoy, to devour, to adore all these right moments, should they be right, and if not, why I am in them. Who am I to be afraid. Afraid….timid in the face of beauty, in the joy of life. Uncertain that the outcome will be worthy of my efforts, uncertain my efforts will be worth of the outcome. But there are no choices. There is no other path, not any other than that which I choose, that which I embrace and desire. But desire is skin deep, desire is shadowy trouble…deceptive and misleading, or is it. Is desire so tainted, or is desire so pure? why fight what you want in life, why deny that which you want, who you want and where you want are ill for you .Why not. Why not be in this moment that is, why not accept that moment that is coming, why not allow the freedom of not choosing….I never chose, except to choose. What now….