And what is life, if not a series of choices made in the void?
They teach us that the path is clear,
but there is always fog where we try to see.
And still, we walk.
Not knowing if each step is right or wrong,
not knowing what defines us, beyond the present moment.

I wonder: how does one decide what to do?
The world is so vast, and the possibilities, infinite.
But what is this thing they call "possibility"?
Is it just another empty word,
or something that resides within us, made of a fear that is never spoken?

Life is not a straight line,
it is the contour of something we never fully understand.
And they tell us it depends on us,
but depends on what?
Are we the ones who decide,
or are we merely the echoes of something greater
that we still don’t know what it is?

Maybe, deep down, the truth is simple:
we don’t know.
And maybe the most important thing is this: to know that we don’t know.
And still, move forward.
Because, in the end, it depends on us —
but it mostly depends on being able to look
at the abyss that opens before us
and not feel fear.

Yes, it depends on us.
But who are we, if not what we choose to be
in the small space that time grants us?