She would find herself that night, sprauchling down a familiar road, in the shrouded darkness of a midnight glow.
Light footsteps would rustle the leaves, shriveled up in invitation to a bleak winter storm.
The slight chill would fade away to a warmth pressing itself into her veins.
The warmth, bleeding into a searing heat.
Amongst the razing fires, she would find herself
stumbling on
and on
and on
till her legs gave way.
She'd inhale the poison, accustomed to the way it fills up her senses.
The forest would cripple, to the predominant destructive upheaval of the blazing flames, nothing is left to lose. Every tree would graze down and the groundly fertility left charred in a deeper black.
An absolute destruction later, she'd open her eyes to a tingling sensation in her hand- crumpling up, a little piece of paper.
'I believe in you.'
A light brush down her spine, would make her look up, towards the tree that still stands, roots deep into the burnt land, a flurry of words around her.
'You're better.'
'You're beautiful.'
'Someone loves you.'
'I love you.'
And years down the line, when she would come to write her story, she would wonder, when those words had started to mean something to her, and then, everything.
