Today, I find myself at the crossroads of love and independence, of intimacy and solitude, of ineffable and reasonable. I can choose to stay the course, a path I’ve followed since cooties went out of style. Or I can turn the corner and finally turn the page as well; I can embrace stability instead of embraces, self-reliance over sacrifice. This decision is simply paramount.

Four weeks ago, my course was flawless. My springtime travels had required much thankless toil to clear a path, but I seemed to be reaping my just reward. Then I spent a mere three weeks and twenty miles apart from my passenger of sorts. And it seems this took precedent over the more than three months we’d been together. We knew that our separation would be precisely limited in duration, and yet it didn’t matter; I reached these crossroads all the same.

I’m writing as though I have a choice, but this is probably a formality. I’ve been here more than once. My past is my only compass, my mind a perfect navigator, and the recommendation never varies: Stop. Stop pursuing nondescript emotions. Stop going where you’ve already been. There’s a few high peaks, a few refreshing streams and the driest of deserts lies in between. But the captain will never listen…

Forever the optimist, the captain remembers glory alone, not the work that led to it nor the fall from grace that followed. His spirit has been broken before, but he never skipped a beat. And so like a father who lives vicariously, he is destined to pursue glory again by whatever means necessary. And I am the vehicle for his foolhardy quest, a ship doomed to seek utopia.

Iceberg straight ahead, I doubt I can turn away. My course will continue; I’ll get the bucket…