Familiar footsteps pave the way before me. Dancing in the impressions of my own every day no matter where I go.

Fast skies and quiet mountains look down on my sluggish frame dragging along to the deadest pace imaginable.
My ankles are heavy. Weighted down by the ties I've made here. Every old memory, every acquaintance tugs on the strings and keeps me here.

My legs are tired.
Each time I lift my feet its just teasing the idea of freedom. I've become jealous of the birds overhead.

Limitless and carefree.
Their songs speak stories of grander pastures. Places I've never been and afraid I'll never go as long as I'm made of concrete.

I was once told that there's a beauty in everything, but I've chiseled away the stone for years and can't seem to see what's i picture in my head.
Maybe it could be the fact that I don't have the right tools. Or maybe it's because I keep hoping for marble in this slab of granite.