Fading

Soft imprint on the wet sand, you’ve aged.

Time and the elements have eroded the statement you once made.

It would be easy for a passerby to pass you by, unknowingly.

But I am here contemplating your presence

and waiting to hear you tell your story.

It would be simple to wipe you away and pretend you were never here.

But you are here, and that’s important.

You are important. You are proof that there is, or was,

Life, and sorrow, and joy, and love

Walking right here at the edge of the sea.

I’ve noticed you, and I care.

I care that you’re here, who you are, where you’ve been.

If I looked for you would I see you again?

Would your story be the same no matter where? Or when?

Or do you change like the shifting sands in the wind?

It’s quiet here, more peaceful than any remembered place.

I’m ready. I’m listening. I’ll wait.

I do have a story. I was left behind. Not abandoned, really.

There is no other option for one such as me.

I am, only because someone moved on

And left me to fade into nothingness, never noticed, never lasting.

But you did notice, and by your noticing I will endure.

And that is important.

You looked at me, and in seeing me, made me matter.

In writing of me, gave me life.

And in considering me, you have gifted me with humanity.

That from which I came and thought I had lost.

You are my witness.

You are my preserver.

You saved me.