MUD

Lots of days, I can’t look out the window, through the rain and fog, to see something off in the distance. Let alone something right outside my door. I drive through the flood unable to focus on anything, unable to de-cloud my own world.

Somedays, the storm outside is missing. Its absence inviting a beating Sun into our world. Vapors shoot out, always finding a home within the river of sweat pouring off my forehead. I wipe the nightmares off my face and swipe them out of my car window onto a pavement cluttered with unfilled cracks.

The warmth pushes at my side, pulling my attention out of my mind and into the universe that surrounds. Outside, I see upon the spent asphalt, layers of mud stacked atop one another. They are reaching out to the world from the depths, pushing as hard as it could before the repercussions of my inaction dried out its life.

Having never reached its full potential; having acted as a bridge for those to come next; having dried up in the prime of its life; can we both except fate knowing that we did what we could to help the next generations to come?

Someone builds the roads

Someone tests the roads

All else follow

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