Peace

I take a step forward and the snapping debris under my foot sends a chill up my spine. I move my foot aside and look down at the object that I stepped on. What I see brings tears to my eyes. It is a piece of my past; a broken memory of what was. As I look up, my breath catches in my throat. What I witness astonished me. Around me for miles are more and more of these pieces - each one a piece of my past and who I was. My heart tears at the thought.

Caught up in the emotion, I look down at my hands. Only seventeen and a half years old and already, my hands are beginning to work. I find peace in the worn texture of my hands for I know that these hands are now capable of rebuilding more memories around me and that I don't have to stand in the debris of my previous life.

Standing in the dust, I raise my worn hands in the air and let the sun shine upon them.