Everytime I had to choose a road among many, I’ve always found it painful to make the choice. So much was the yearning to see the destinations on each of the roads not taken…that I had decided to split a tiny part of my soul and send it over the roads not taken, hoping one day I would find it with stories about how I hadn’t missed much.
And so I split and ripped apart my soul. May be too many times, at every corner and choice.
Have I lived long enough or travelled too far? Or have I been ruthless in tearing my soul apart? On all the roads that I take now, I see myself in the little soul spies that I had sent before, my fellow travellers. Some of them in my direction, the rest greeting me in the opposite way.
Which among the zillion broken souls do I really exist now? From which broken part am I speaking now? Where & when did I start really… and with what?
Suddenly I’m all over or may be truly lost; for all the places I’m not, I must be somewhere else.