- The stars blink the way there as I look to them while the clouds lay bare and still for me, making sure I don't stray from where I am guided to. The silver light of the moon shines upon the path I'm taking, it dances the darkness away, gently giving the forest a cool silver tone. Its light is reflected by the strands of my hair that the breezes blow, being one of the only things I take solace in. Slowly, I make my way there. The path isn't as clear as I thought it would be, with all the vines I can be entangled in, and the thorns that can scratch against my skin as I pass. They do. I keep walking forward. I get slowed, but that matters not. For as long as I can walk, I will. While I know things I can use and do to heal, I will use them. Sometimes I'm shaken, desire to stay put, and I do. I can't walk forever. I sit a while, just to help myself recover my breaths. I move again once I do. I can't stay put forever either.
- There is silence, but it is a silence I don't mind. The soft swishing of breeze-blown leaves lets my mind rest, even for a little. I can stand here and close my eyes, just listening to the sounds of a breezy forest night. Every once in a while, there will be rustling bushes or breaking branches, but I smile knowing that those are by the animals. My voice is of no use, but I can sometimes contest. There's nothing and no one else that can do so for me, so I sing in comfort. I feel my own warmth; the warmth I desire from people whose presences I never do feel. I sing to let the sound bounce off the walls created by the density of the forest, and I can hear every drop of dew hit the little pool underneath, and the owls' song. I sing with.
- I pass these dense clutters of trees, the vines that dangle and lay on the soil, and the thorn bushes. I walk the path I'm guided to, but sometimes, I fail to look enough. I become entangled in vines. I stay so for a while, and for the time, I can only stare at the knots and try as I might. There are the seconds, and perhaps extending to days, that I am entangled while I am pricked by thorns. Times where I felt I've untangled myself, only to see that it's still tied around my ankle. Sometimes I've need not to look, and just feel it chafe against my skin. I walk, held back, but I walk. Sometimes I try to kick it off of me, but it never seems to get better. Only worse. The force makes my movement stop abruptly, and I trip. I feel my ankle throb, no matter how subtle. I move forward. I observe more and more of what I pass, and what I am about to, but even still, where I least expect it, it repeats itself. Sometimes it looks different, but in a while, I recognize that they've too much in common. A lot of those times, I tell myself I could have done better. Could have. What could I have known in that moment? I couldn't see what was hiding behind that reflected light. Only when I felt the first weight was I reminded of what could be, and only when I fell did I realize what it was.
- The night is here, the night is always here. It can be, it will be. The path I follow is guided by these inanimacies; inanimacies that make me feel more warmth that those that are otherwise.
