The comfort is fleeting.
Flowing to gravity's constitution.
This must end, for the press of the choice is ever present.
The choice itself is dissuading, but must be.
The realm of comfort is left through a pane of cold glass.
The chill of freedom, of which I am not yet aware.
The choice is doubted.
Scrutinizing the options til exhaustion takes hold.
Suddenly, the choice is felt, and remembered for why it was made.
I know what I have to do.
The choice to leave that darkness was not made in vain.
Now there is no choice, there is only truth.
VERY good stuff.
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