Crack in the road

  Dear Old Friend,

It was the old sidewalk, either in your future or the past, it was the road you wish you didn't travel, in a place you wish wasn’t home. I watched the road underneath my worn out sneakers, its pale expression gazed back in return. The road was windy, consistent in shade besides the shadows casting onto its sides; it felt never ending, the remnants of a trampled surface.

   I imagined once this sidewalk’s past - the feeling of accomplishment as the fresh tar was grinded flat and smooth. It may have been glistening in the sun, the white sparkles danced,  humans gathering,  joyous in their accomplishment. Its smell undeniable- the smell of sweat, tears, glory, and innovation. The world needed it, and it waited in grand anticipation surrounded by orange cones- the red carpet.

That was the past. It's now bruised and battered, callous to the touch. It held the world's tears after rainfall, and survived disasters. Monsoons, tornadoes, and hurricanes carved its chipped edges. It smelled of human spit, spatter, being sponged by the world’s cruelty- trash leaving its stain. I continued down, bounded by the road. It had only one path to go - always to the same destination. It pattered against the kompf of my feet, and it mirrored my mellow hum. It was a friend when needed, and an enemy when you wished for change. Ahead of me, a drill smacked into my partner. I could hear the sidewalk cry as the mechanical machine pounded and stabbed. I felt sympathy, however asking myself how, when I too held it beneath my feet. It did not choose its path, and believe me, if it could it would be to the doorstep of scientists, world activists, poets, or even a happy family. Yet here it stood, irritated by the soft bristles of  grass, strapped down tight  missing the cool breeze. I knew it wanted freedom. 

 I saw the crack in the road. The black crevice, the empty void of uncertainty, zig and zagging across the sidewalk’s underbelly. Forced by inner strength, I followed the black outline as it pointed to one thing: the forest. I saw the sign of my old friend. I walked slowly to the curb, round and soft, easy to slip off. I fell forward into the unknown. That's when I turned back and thanked my friend for the new direction. Looking towards to the black void, jutting into the edge of my partner’s side, a green bristle sprung from its fingertips. I knew then what it was thinking, hoping, and wishing for. I walked forward into the forest, while the sidewalk gazed in envy.    

I write to you after envy, after pain.

After leaving you, while hoping you are okay.

Thankyou for leading me to where I am today.

From,

Your best friend