My footsteps are too loud. My thoughts are too loud. The edge of the forest is more than I think, more than I believe, more than I can take, more than I am ready to be. The edge is. I am not. I am not more. I try to hold. I try to hold. I change my clothes, and the certainty of the change is
I leave it. I leave it. The forest is empty and endless. It waits for me. I pretend it’s not too late, pretend I can still change my mind. The stillness surrounds me, fills the car with its presence, fills the air with the pull, with the pull of what I know I have to do. The trailhead is unmark
The car is as lonely as my thoughts, a dark streak through the edge of the city, through the raw edge of my fear. The road is more empty than I expect, more empty than I am, more empty than I think. I drive. I drive and lose myself in the motion, in the distance, in the blur of it all. The bag is at
The old words bleed into each other. They bleed. They bleed. The hours before the change are unsteady. They are an unsteady reminder, an unsteady force, an unsteady push against my life, against my control, against what I can handle. They are an unsteady pull, a pull that I pretend not to feel, a
I fill the space with my uncertainty, with my resolve. I fill it with the tension of solitude, of old words and old remedies. The small, leather bag stares back at me from the desk. It holds more assurance than I feel, more composure than I want, more than I can be. Wolfsbane, chains, the inevitabil
We don’t move, we don’t breathe, we don’t let it slip, let it slip, let it. We don’t let it slip. He is more than I can be, more than I can be in this moment, in this moment. We are alive in the silence, alive and full of the silence, of the silence and the world, the world that is more than I t