The road Taken (so many times)
L'ironia del destino vuole che io sia ancora qui pensando a te
It has returned,
My very own ghost, the voice in my head that is not my own. I've learnt this.
It shakes me to my core.
Throws me off the trodden path if ever for a split second.
Because I forgot.
So many times that eventually I forgot how to really forget.
It is more like a feeling of something remembered than an actually memory.
Lodged in my amygdala, refusing removal except through lobotomy.
They say will-power is like Jesus,
it dies so that it can be restored.
Mine became a martyr on the cross more times than I care to admit,
I wonder how many times it can be resurrected?
And incessantly, inexorably, I wonder,
why my mind constantly chooses this same road.
Two roads diverge in a yellow wood.
And I, as it turns out, never take the one less traveled by.
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