Sitting in this parking lot that used to be a what…I don’t remember…now serving donuts and coffee, and I remember…this stretch of road and others, racing from one end to the next…looking and needing what…I couldn’t tell you then…thinking I may know a little more now…maybe…
…I see others like us, souls with dirty hands, flailing limbs, longing faces, hurting hearts, traveling these roads and others, searching and wanting what…they don’t know…
…I ache to reach out, caress their faces with my fingertips, offer an intimate touch, one that might bring healing…may be…recalling how the grime of choices made from a place of wounded feels, trying to wash it away, not knowing how to get it off, so getting off instead…
…teary-eyed, my heart revisits these old roads…and I remember…pain, and healing, and I rejoice in my weeping…
…we know…we remember…we reach…we remember…we hope…as we travel…new…on old roads.
Never forget the old roads…remembering helps you know where to look for the others, like you.
