We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger.

They say the dead tell no tales, but what they leave behind speaks louder.

Just with a footprint, you can see their lives unfold.

You just have to look closer.

Over the sidewalks and over the ground,

The prints of many different souls.

The marks of fancy shoes, left on tile floors by the fortunate and the bold.

The many rough marks left by workers and farmers, trying to make their livings.

The scattered bootprints of fallen soldiers, who saw nothing but chaos before death.

The tiny footprints of children on colorful carpets, who had their lives cut too soon.

The bloodied marks of a poor man, left to suffer in silence within the streetlights.

The distinct marks of the famous and infamous, who resonate within the memory of all.

Footprints are footprints.

But they are not just that. They are everything that was left behind when they were gone.

The ghosts are gone, but their memories stay.