The days of counting dashes.
I’ve heard them say every end gives birth to a new beginning, but what if I wasn’t ready? What if I wasn’t prepared to outline my future with the lines I’ve already drawn in the sand?
The days of counting dashes on the road seem completely out of reach now, but each mile chizzled definition into my heart, leaving me comfortable enough to breath the air of any city that I might set foot in. I just don’t want to forget.
I never want to wake up and not fully remember the days I held so close to my chest for however long we each let ourselves go.
I’m still not sure I’m back from the places that I’ve been, but even though the memories of those midwest hours seem to vague to recall, the point at which I started seems so much further gone.
