I have chosen a path. It is a difficult one. It is a path, rife with difficulty, strewn with obstacles. It is far from where others would have me. It is a path of long suffering and due pain. It is a path, that I have chosen.
I've been in training, since I can remember, for the path that is least taken. I've been in training, to succeed at that which is difficult. I've been trained to rise up to the challenge and face it and conquer it.
This is path is not well worn. This path speaks of a fleeting tread and little prestige. This path encourages flight. This path, will be my greatest triumph.
I will succeed.
I will press on, when the path becomes washed out. I will press on, when I am sick. I will press on, when I am tired. I will press on, when I step off. I will not give up.
The path will not be gone. It always will be. The tread will grow fainter, it will dissolve into the wild. But the path will always be there, for me to continue.
I won't be sprinting. Nor running. Nor even jogging. The danger is too high. I must go slow. I must make every step count. I must press on. Slowly, and surely.
A day will come. When the sun will rise, out of the east. And its' rays will fall upon the path. The path that I have left behind. And I will have reached that to which I chosen.