Faded Footsteps

The boardwalk creaks under the weight of time, though no one has walked here in years. Once, this weathered saloon stood as the heart of a bustling path, where laughter spilled from swinging doors and boots wore grooves into the wooden planks. Now, the paint peels like old memories, and the signs are nothing but ghosts of their former selves.

Each warped board still remembers the rhythm of life that once passed through—cowboys swapping tales, families seeking refuge, travelers chasing new horizons. The footsteps that shaped this place have long faded, yet their echo lingers, etched into the grain of every timber.

Standing here, you can almost hear it: the shuffle of boots, the murmur of voices, the promise of a pathway leading somewhere new. This is not just a ruin. It’s a reminder—that every path we walk leaves a trace, and every trace tells a story.