This Road I May Not Follow

Pieces of dreams
(past and present)
are nothing but.
From far enough away,
mine must look like grains of sand.

Did you know?
That the sand at the beach is made of the shells
of millions and millions of creatures?
The waves crash
and pound them
so little children (and adults, too)
can walk and run
and cuddle and laugh
(do you miss that too?)

I am:
What was, and what
might have been.

You have:
What may be
and what will be.

Sleep well, Ce'Nedra.
And walk safe.