the memory of tire marks

 i am a road. 

constantly walked on by passing people, with careful and careless footsteps, with hurried toes, and sometimes with small innocent ones. 

constantly trampled by oblivious feet who never knew of how much dust they scatter on all my spaces and bumps. 

i am and will probably forever be down here, lying quietly with my eyes wide open, seeing every sole and every debris. i will watch as my paint constantly and consistently wash out, and I get repainted again. covering, and touching up all the ugliness- made by their shoes. 

but all of these are not painful. 

the memory is beautiful. 

tire marks are amazingly intricate, and all the destinations that I would go to once I follow all those haunting shapes and swirls. 

pain is a memory that keeps me going. a memory of what i am despite what i am not. traces of who i am and was when i have been removed from this place that i stay still in.