There Goes The Sun

I imagine reflecting on my past as turning around after taking a long walk on the beach. Not to imply that life, particularly mine, is even remotely comparable to a stroll along the shore, but when I envision my past, I see foot steps left in the sand. One in front of the other, usually.

I hate looking back and seeing foot steps smudged along side each other, indicating steps taken backwards. The more I step backwards, the wider and deeper those footsteps become on the impressionable shore of my youthful life. They become the easiest to see, the most profound.

My biggest fear right now is becoming despondent. I'm desperately trying to blow at the embers of passion that still flicker in me, but with each storm my coals smolder less. My fire that once burned brightly, vividly and almost dangerously is slowly smoldering away. And I'm just afraid I don't have the fuel and wood to start them up again.

I hope I'll have the opportunity to look back on these tracks, and find that they are narrow, single file, and solitaire. Barely visible along the sandy shore.