Cracks at my feet draw my eyes. Chalk develops my art, creating life or death? Sidewalks lead to places I hate yet places I crave. There are people that travel as I do, with their feet following eyes that follow cracks. Chalk fights the boundaries that bind it within its own creation. It leads men and children to individual worlds.
Everyone follows, someone cries out. There is a man fixing our sidewalks. That man stands, strangely familiar, like a king among his men. He draws the attention of all who are searching to follow. This king has fixed all the cracks.
Yet I here I am, still wander these sidewalks, following imaginary cracks to houses and places I hate. To people I regret seeing, my fault alone. He always stands in front of me wondering why I travel with my head down. He asks, commands, in an unheard voice. “Look up. Lead those who follow yet. Teach them as I desire to teach you.” Only my heart hears. My eyes flicker up; they then drop, missing the sidewalks.
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