My thought is perched upon a precipice, looking out into the unknown. Perhaps it is time for my mind to stop wandering. I wonder what these dreams I have really mean, whether they are worthy of me, and I worthy of them — there is work to be done, I know that for sure. I have gone down enough pathways that led to barrenness, that twisted back on themselves, and that just go on and on without end, that I am wary now of where I should step. But go, I must; this is for certain. And I do not know which part of the adventure will be why I go, so I think I must taste it all as if such wine shall never be bottled again. Into the uncharted: I imagine that what is meant to be will happen, like it or not, and saint or fool, I must claim my destiny. Dream my dream.