The fuel that burns the fire of my dreaming is constant, even when in short supply.
Everything I've done that has not been to keep the kindling alive has been a futile effort to extinguish that eternal flame.
I'm not at a crossroads here. It's not even a fork in the wild woods. There's no untraversed path. There's no well worn road. I'm simply standing in an open space as violent winds force me to dance in their embrace.