Forest is close, trees are far

vii. Bjerne

Dearest, 

I don't want to tell you about death. I don't want my thoughts on you to mix with the blackness of the earth so I can't find you even in my thoughts anymore because my inside is covered, buried and you can't breathe here. The air tastes different when inhaled according to its own rules. Nigleas knows a lot more than I thought. I still hesitate to tell him or not.

A hundred bushy forests!" Cermi rejoiced at the news we had brought him. "Death really likes to hang out with you lot." He hasn't lost a shred of charm since he buried our parents.

While the best and most capable gravedigger in the world (of course there were no forest undertakers in the competition, because if there were, he would stand no chance) gathers his people who rise one after the other as the whisper reaches them, and go after the little leader, I let myself be carried away with thoughts of you while the dead man waits to be taken away too.

 I remember one late June night when some big orchestra came to town and had a concert under the stars in the main park. My father wanted to take us and the idea thrilled me and I remember, I imagined everything as it would be and how nice it fwould feel to finally meet us all. We would all meet in the park, under the canopy, and mom and dad would invite their friends and they would take their children with them, and you would come, maybe with a few more, maybe even our colleagues, and laughter would be a frame of remembrance for that evening.

 But the day didn't turn into a dream, because I never called you. Because it's easier to imagine than to act.

Because it is more tolerable to live with thoughts on never used opportunities than memories of a moments of failure.

Both burn and burn, but by choosing one, it is as if we are deciding with what degree of burns we can survive.

Everything happens so fast, that one moment I don't want to look behind me or around me, and  next the chair is already empty. I find it,  even though all this time I force myself not to look in that direction. Chair remained a shadow, no longer a shadow of a human being. Only the shadows of a chandelier whose candle burns and burns to the end.

I don't see Cermi, and Nigleas is far away. I take off my shoes and the grass is soft and the forest is close and it whispers to me the sound that my vocal cords accept for their voice.

"Look in the back storage." The plant spoke. Because the forest taught her that siblings grow from one another. "Vaccilia, I think. Maybe she's there. "

Because the truth blows in the loudest wind. Because everything that has a voice has it for a reason. To contribute to the story, to find their wings and get rid of the monsters that trample on them. I remember again you and your wings that you were never ashamed of and how your freedom is one of the reasons why I loved you. Because looking at you, I was looking at everything I could become. And you looked at me as if what you saw was more than enough.