We have traveled for a long time now. Since we never really learned to speak each other’s languages, it has been a relatively silent trip. Sometimes you take a different form and walk beside me for a bit. Though I can fly, the vast majority of the time I am still grounded. Though I can swerve against the rails, the vast majority of the time I am centered.
The newly sprouted leaves on the tree outside my window are a stark contrast to the bare gray twigs of the winter that has passed. Is it still snowing inside? The rapidly encircling foliage blocks out the sun at times when it’s on my side. The pollen permeating the air is the master teaching us that rapid growth can be damaging, can be harmful, can bring tears to our eyes until the occasional rain. Are rain and tears the same thing? Though you can stay, the vast majority of the time you are gone. Though you can speak, the vast majority of the time you sit in silence.
Creatures along the path do not approach, leaving us both alone, neither harming us nor being harmed by our presence. Do they know something of which we are yet unaware? My delicious instinctual words are sitting alongside the path miles back, left behind, awaiting my return. Why should I go back and get them? I challenge you to give me one good reason. You don’t respond. Instead, you return along the path we have just traveled. Will you seek them out, sifting through them for clues to my mysterious whereabouts? Though I can wait, I continue to walk alone. Though I can run, I walk slowly and carefully.
Cuts appear on my tired hands, which I only notice after handling sharp and acidic words. I can no longer rub the salty tears from my hazel eyes. It is difficult for me to see my way down a road I believe in. The mist is heavy and the light is dim. I can still see by my words glowing in your eyes. My heart beats in your hands. Shall I ask you to return it? Though it could give you life, you set it aside, uncertain, reticent. Though I could retrieve it, I leave it with you. I can just make you out in the distance. Though you could walk with me, you take a previously unseen path and leave me. Though I could follow, I walk where there is no path and make my own, disappearing into the forest.