Paralyzed

So many memories can arise,
From a small piece of quiet and a breeze.
As I stop to wonder,
Why they all make me sad.
Is it that they themselves are sad?
Or that my perspective is so?
A past filled far past full,
With "could-have-beens" and such,
I cannot help but think,
My life is not as good as it could be.
If only I had taken,
Some other road,
Perhaps the one not taken,
As one man put it.
And yet, it seems so queer,
For one would think,
That following one's dreams,
Would lead to their fruition.
Perhaps I was simply never taught,
How to correctly - and whole-heartedly,
Follow my dreams.