i can hear the forest breathe — the way it sighs when the air passes through. like a song that never wants to end. like a whisper that knows i will hear it even though others never could. it’s almost sensual, the way predators circle their next meal, biting, claiming, glimpses of the pursuit, dragging prey deeper into the forest. he ventured into the bosk,stepped on disfigured shadows cast by the canopy above, followed disembodied promises; time stood still and he waited for someone to find him.
no birds sang for him - only haunting phantasmagoria, blinking in and out of existence, hummed a mocking melody. tunnel vision where recondite regrets stood instead of trees, and thick, thorny bushes pricked him every time he lingered on a memory for too long.
silence isn’t lonely.
he lost himself. somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, but no matter how many times he counted to ten and told himself to give up, he couldn’t leave his hiding spot. he couldn’t see.