We spit in the mud and made clay,
And we molded ourselves as we saw us.
I saw our creation as the near future,
You only saw the past.
I saw our creation as my biggest desire,
You saw something you didn’t believe in.

One month later and I walk a dirt path,
And it reminds me of our clay.
I don’t sculpt much nowadays,
Maybe I was never meant to.
But along the path I spotted someone walking

I smiled, kept walking, and took a breath.

Breathing felt better once I knew it wasn’t clay; it was just mud.