There is a brief moment, as she pauses in her course, kneels for a breath, and walks her fingers idly back and forth in the crevice along the road.

It is that very moment in which the power of what’s to come resides. The few seconds near bursting with omnipotence rule masterfully above those of the fixed past and the uncertainty of the unwritten future, left to be written by those mere seconds. Those mere breaths.

And so she inhales sharply this complexion of thought, taking in so wholly the prowess effect of her awaiting decision. She imbibes the quiet stagnance of the air before she takes a turn, either forward or back—but the direction doesn’t matter just yet, for in this brief moment, no fatality remains, only the sure knowledge of something to come, not of what something might is.

There is a brief moment, in which she longs to reside indefinitely. She would grant the magnificence of her power to another moment, relinquishing the very motive behind her pause.

No, she is not ill with hesitancy. Nor with unwillingness. Nor with doubt. Nor with the incapability to commit to a decision or, let alone, choose a decision. None of that, so she will say.

She pauses for the sweet rush of newfound power whilst she peers expectantly over the present to all that surrounds, assured that a decision will come and that she will embark on some course, whether right or wrong. She is assured, too, that she need not worry about the results yet. She is assured that, for now, she can bask in this brief moment.

Perhaps, she dawdles too long and too often, forfeiting brief moment after brief moment. She cannot argue against the plagues of hesitancy then. No matter, she will insist that instead a choice was indeed made, one to continue the pleasance of the in-between of deciding.

Thus, she wanders alongside a new path, walking her fingers along a new groove. It is upon this path she must decide whether to take a step back onto the prior or move forward to another, discarding the prowess chance of the other.

Rather, she commits to dawdling on that same path, hence transporting her to yet another to question if she will remain on the previous, effectively discarding the original.

There is a brief moment, bittersweet as can be. It holds her captive, or she holds herself captive in the very bliss of indecision she cannot help but continue to romanticize.