Landscapes

What is one's life but empty canvases? The art utensils in our hands, shaking from hesitation, haunted with what-ifs, and aspirations. We constantly yearn to move forward, but we're always turning around to glance behind, to see what we once have painted. We breathe in the old scents and softly glaze our fingers over the faded colors, falling back into memory. The better days, the forgotten days. We think we remember, but all we have are faded images and if we stare back too long, unfinished landscapes in our future.