There is a way for a person to not go to himself.
If you choose to live, you may think that you have made such a choice, but in the end, what can not be done is life.
A long time ago there was another way I could choose, and I wondered what would have happened if I walked that path.
One day, I took a picture and found the road between the forests.
I walked the road.
I think Robert Frost's poem "The road not taken" suddenly.
The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.