We are weighted.

Tethered to the ground by aching feet.

We are crawling.

Reddened hands and scuffed knees kiss the earth clumsily. She is sweet.

We are stumbling.

Outstretched fingers brush surfaces we don't understand. Nervous legs still wavering.

We are walking.

Our palms have been licked by flames. Our fingers have frozen in snow.

A path was created for us.

Brick by brick was laid at our feet.

Soft grass yet to be touched, we itch to dance across.

A road of glass, some places chipped and some places cracked. We bleed.

Why do our paths differ?

We are running.

Hands upon hands have surrounded us.

Some help us breathe fresh, untasted air.

Some suffocate us, drowning us more than an ocean ever could.

It was a brief sadness.

It was hard time.

It was a beautiful love.

It was a sorrowful loss.

Our feet can't slow down.

Our feet are bruised.

Our feet are bleeding.

Our feet are healing.

We are stopped.

We see Heaven.

We see a new life.

We see pitch black.

Our eyes see such different wonders.

Our hands reach upwards. Our fingers gently grace this space.

Our feet feel light. We are standing on the tips of our toes.

We are floating.

We are weightless.

We have lived.