Mending the Path

I walk the path we built together alone, the view in front of me is foreign and unknown now but I keep going. Maybe there's a trace of you here left for me to find and if you happen to wander down this road again you'll find me but I can no longer see what's ahead. This is our story, our imperfect and disfigured woven street. Who takes care of this road now? I pull weeds from the side, sweep the patches of pavement, and lay down cement where cracks had formed. You used to work and walk beside me, now you call this a broken street. It needs time to heal you say, well I'm here and picking up the shattered pieces that formed during the earthquakes others threw at us. You said you would never let an outside force have a negative impact, but this time I dropped a bomb on the road. So here I stand, here I pace, here I walk. I look for the broken pieces to mend, the cluttered forgotten areas to clear up, but it's not the same. Walk with me a while and the path in front of us will clear up. Maybe you will never return to the point of my destruction but if you can find it within yourself to let it hurt for a while, the smoother part is waiting for you on the other side.