When the night is still
Sometimes I wonder. I tell myself, you've walked that path before. You remember the stones that made you soles bleed, the tracks worn hard into the ground. Nothing can change that path, nothing to lift the trail of blood you left. But my mind still wanders back, looking into those eyes. There was something there, but it wasn't for me. There was a longing in that glance, was it a mirror of my own? I do not regret the paths I followed but those that I could not. I stare at those dark woods and wonder how the mottled sun would feel on my face, if I could hear a brook sing somewhere in the distance. But I like my path now. The grass is soft on my sore feet and the sun keeps me warm. There are roots of my past that spawl out to trip me and I grow weary somedays, thinking if only I could lay here for a spell. Then the winds tug at my limbs and I know it's time to carry on. I look from my way but do not think I wish to have followed you. Carry on traveler, we can enjoy the views from the other sides.