Do the Roads Have Memories?
The narrow dirt track that used to be my way back home
from school. That feels like a lifetime away. I don’t remember much now.
It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with lots of pieces missing. I remember
laughter. Snatches of conversation. The sun beating down on the track.
Bicycles. Green and white uniforms. Children running, leaving clouds of
dust in their wake. Smell of horse dung in the air.
That narrow dirt track in a small town. Would it still remember the scruffy little kid whose footsteps were always lighter on her way back from school?
Another way back home. This time, a different home. I know that route by heart. After all, I took the same route for two years. I counted the number of steps it took to reach home. Sometimes, I studied the cracks in the pavements and came up with hidden patterns. Sometimes, I would look up and watch the clouds shifting in the evening sky. The way back home in that busy city was always interrupted by traffic lights and passing cars.
The roads and streets that were named after dead famous people. Do they miss the daydreamer who had her feet on the ground and her head in the clouds?
There was this road. The one with the cobbled stones leading to a bus-stop. That one time, dusk was falling and there were many people, making their way back home at the end of the day. Thank you for holding my hand and not letting it go. Happiness could be as simple as having someone to hold onto in a sea of strangers. You said something funny about a song that was so popular at the time. It was a sad song. About heartbreaks and goodbyes. But from that day on, every time I hear that song, it never fails to make me smile.
That cobbled road leading to a bus-stop. Would it wonder why there’s only one set of footprints now instead of two?
The roads of your past, present and future.
Roads that led you to where you are and roads that will take you where you want to go.
Do they have memories?
AN: Fiction or non-fiction? Is this true or is this false? Who cares?
That narrow dirt track in a small town. Would it still remember the scruffy little kid whose footsteps were always lighter on her way back from school?
Another way back home. This time, a different home. I know that route by heart. After all, I took the same route for two years. I counted the number of steps it took to reach home. Sometimes, I studied the cracks in the pavements and came up with hidden patterns. Sometimes, I would look up and watch the clouds shifting in the evening sky. The way back home in that busy city was always interrupted by traffic lights and passing cars.
The roads and streets that were named after dead famous people. Do they miss the daydreamer who had her feet on the ground and her head in the clouds?
There was this road. The one with the cobbled stones leading to a bus-stop. That one time, dusk was falling and there were many people, making their way back home at the end of the day. Thank you for holding my hand and not letting it go. Happiness could be as simple as having someone to hold onto in a sea of strangers. You said something funny about a song that was so popular at the time. It was a sad song. About heartbreaks and goodbyes. But from that day on, every time I hear that song, it never fails to make me smile.
That cobbled road leading to a bus-stop. Would it wonder why there’s only one set of footprints now instead of two?
The roads of your past, present and future.
Roads that led you to where you are and roads that will take you where you want to go.
Do they have memories?
AN: Fiction or non-fiction? Is this true or is this false? Who cares?
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