When we retrace our steps, and we end up on Zik road, in the land where the earth is red, and the walls and the streets are red, and the roads are full of people trading wares, there shall still linger, the steps that forged our years, eyes shall still remember a voice they once heard, a name now distant, but near. Some will linger and stare, for it cannot be the same eyes they saw those years, the same hands that carried lives upstairs, the air still lingers with memories of blazing sun, memories of a distant time that shaped and formed you, like the slow walk of trees. Even though death’s chorus lingers in the air, even though we gather with eyes veiled to retrace our steps, it’s the lessons of how paw paws cling to trees, that unifies our gaze. Keep remembering the paths that formed you.