Inner turmoil deludes my sanity, but through the fog I see my options.

To the right lies a cloudy haze of uncertainty. I look to it in fear, in desperation, and in earnest. There's much I have yet to defeat, much I have yet to learn, and much I have yet to discover. The possibility of happiness wisps through the fumes, it's minuscule: one delicate thread holding its own against the burden of my existence, but it's still there. A torturous fate accompanies the thought of paradise though, engulfing the power of love I once had and mocking me, pushing me towards the alternative.

To the left lies a certainty, the dark abyss of death. Heaven could be on that path, or damnation. The freedom of nonexistence would be glorious, just a floating soul within the universe, something peaceful and unafraid. But what of the future? To never live out destiny would be a great sadness, yet an undeniably beautiful escape from sorrow. Is death not a form of life, just another stage in the endless severity of our duration?

What is life worth?

My ledge is weak; it can endure only one leap before it crumbles. The question is where do I leap? Towards the light, or towards the dark?