A Crossroad

Something I wrote when I felt stuck.

The day was faded, decayed, burnt asunder by the orange dusk. I was standing at a crossroads that, upon reflection, was really just a straight line.
The road stretched endlessly forward and behind, and no matter how quickly I sped down the interstate, nothing ever seemed to change. The sun was setting in the sky, but time on earth was at a standstill. The road did not change, the cornfields to my left and right did not change, and the old white jeep creaked incessantly inside and out. I was going home.
Despite the monotony, I was aware. I knew that I was empowered, so I made an executive decision to stop at the nearest rest stop. I would grab a cup of coffee, and move on from there.
I can always go back, but which way is forward?