Updated: Dec 24, 2020

Standing in the desert, bare feet, after another dust storm. Hearing echoes as it fades away.

I stand still and watch it leave.

Looking down at my dusty feet, I don't hold a grudge. It's covered in experiences. I pat my dress and more dust lands there. It feels prickly and strange, but I don't brush it off. It's now a part of me.

I look behind me to get an idea of how far I've come, but I can't tell. I strain my eyes to look ahead but I have no clue how far I have to go.

I choose that direction knowing the road forward will be as arduous as the road behind me. Going back won't teach me anything new.

I face north with new conviction, vowing to never look back, because if I do, I will turn to stone.

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