Looking back, I often wonder: did I take the right path? Was that crossroads choice the correct one, or just the easier one? There is no one to ask now. When I turn around, the trail behind me is gone - not overgrown with weeds, but buried under new houses, fresh asphalt, and streets I do not recognize. The forest I walked through has become a neighborhood. The quiet fields are now parking lots. The landmarks I once used to measure my progress have been erased.
I cannot go back. Not because I am afraid, but because the way no longer exists. Even if I wanted to return to the moment before I chose, there is no road leading there. I stand in the middle of my present, and the past has been paved over. Perhaps this is how it always is. You move forward, and the path behind you collapses, rebuilds itself into something new, something that belongs to others now. You cannot retrace your steps. You cannot ask the person you were yesterday for advice. You can only keep walking, hoping that the choice you made long ago was the right one - because there is no way to find out except to live it to the end.