Staircase In The Forest

How did I get here? Isn't that the question of the ages?

I'm not quite sure myself, but I've been here for a while. Long enough to watch the trees grow from saplings to towering oaks. Long enough to see the constellations shift, and the seasons come and go.

What once used to be a small clearing in the woods has become a fully fledged forest. A forest that I have grown quite fond of. It's beautiful here. Quiet. And yet, I know I don't belong. My presence here is a stain. A concrete slab that disrupts the serenity of this natural place.

Why am I here? Better yet, why am I unfinished? Where was I supposed to lead people to?

Based on my limited knowledge, I know I'm a carved path meant to bring people toward something, but what? Where is the end? I'm merely the beginning. I wish to be more than just a few platforms that ascend to nothing. I wish to be complete.

Sadly, I'm not as sturdy as I once was, and I'd be embarrassed if anyone were to see me this way. The cracks and corrosion along my exterior aren't from foot traffic, but from years and years of weathering and disuse, evidence of my aging and unkempt state. I'm ashamed to admit that no one's ever climbed my steps, and I fear no one ever will.

I've been robbed of my sole purpose in life.

Who made me? Why would they abandon me here? I'm not a landmark. I'm not a remembrance of any sort. If anything, I'm a warning. A sign that you should turn back before you end up like me. Lost. Unwanted. Useless.

Maybe that was why I was forsaken? Perhaps my purpose was to be a cautionary tale? One that people would tell their children and grandchildren about. A bed-time story that would make them afraid to wander too far, and always stay on the path.

"Stumble across random stairs in a forest, and you might find yourself in a similar predicament; a lonely, rotted remnant of what once was."

Am I an object to be wary of?

I don't feel that way.

Stairs lead people to places. Places they may not have been before, taking them to charted destinations, promising to appease their curious minds.

Where would my steps end? Oh, let me tell you. I've spent my entire life fantasizing about it. They used to be small dreams; a home, a gazebo, or even something as simple as a porch. They've evolved over the years. With nothing else to do, my imagination has been overflowing with ideas; taking travelers on new adventures, elevating hikers to unseen heights, and bringing those who've felt trapped by their burdens to their liberation.

Down?

Oh, no. Not down. Down is the wrong direction. There are no boundless horizons to be found below. Opportunities are limited. I only want to bring people up. Up to the summit. Up to the canopy of stars, where they can see the entire world. Where they can watch the sun rise, feel the warmth of the rays, and taste the fresh air.

Wouldn't it be the greatest gift to give to someone? To watch their eyes widen as they see the beauty of the heavens, to give them hope for a brighter tomorrow?

It'd be my greatest honor to be that for someone. To be the catalyst for their journey, to be the reason they climb and reach a destination they never thought possible.

But that'll never happen.

I'll never see that dream come to fruition.

Because I'm decrepit, and have been left to rot.

Because I've been misplaced.