One day, in my travels, I found a monument to the forgotten.

I found footprints there, and though they fit my feet, I had no memory of being there before.

One side of the monument was blank, full of words that could not be read.

One side was burnt, and ashes twisted in the mourning breeze.

One side was covered with a sheet.

One side towered high, yet was gone before I fully looked away.

And all around, footprints.

All of them mine.