𓉡

There is something you’ve forgotten, though it’s not entirely gone. Trying to remember it now brings a sad sort of pain, an aching in your eyes and arms. Let your hands guide you, and find something buried beneath the lake, near the shore–entombed in silt, bones that once were yours.

You’ll find it lying on warm pavement in the black of night, an inscrutable god whose head curls back as it returns to the ground. It will speak its final prayer to you through the sizzling static and swaying powerlines, warped and guttural with grief. Stay until the air goes quiet.

The electric air of a far-off storm calls you to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon fill you with terrible longing for something you feel but cannot know—a fearful devotion to a place without shape, a love that burns with no name.

Sleep doesn’t come like it used to, and the late air hangs heavy with the smell of wet leaves and slow decay. It presses on you, a blanket of forest that fills your lungs. Driving at night, you see deer in every shadow, bounding away into the trees, always away.