To see this huge Okanagon forest go from green to black was eerily serene. We got out of the car at one point to take it all in, and the silence was haunting. The forest becomes infinitely more quiet without any leaves to rustle in the breeze. The mist was thick like paint, engulfing the top of the remaining trunks, blurring the horizon between the treetops and the sky, beckoning them to come to their next life. They refused.
I snapped this photo and left it unedited, to remember how beautiful and strong they still are despite surviving such destruction. I thanked them for being candid with me. They reminded me that people are not so different from the landscapes that surround us. Gracefully proud, strong, and resilient, I think we can all strive to more like the trees.
Mountaintops summoned me, but her empty promises only led to endless valleys.
“Please, Atticus,” she breathed into my chest. Her eyes shimmered with effervescent tears that flowed towards my lips. I yearned for her sparkling kisses and ethereal embrace.
Today I wrote something beautiful. I was filled with inspiration, and the perfect words flowed from my fingertips, like honey on a sunny day. My heart did not pound with existential dread, wondering when I would be struck with a creative spark. I did not pace or fidget. I did not curl up into a blanket and question if my writing was worth anything at all. I did not feel my temples pulsate with angst or yearning. I did not feel the quiver of my breath while sighing in defeat, oh no.
Our relationship was toxic.
She was never a good friend to me, yet I kept her around because I knew her so well.
She always kept me on my toes. I never knew when she would show up. It was always one of two options: tears in her eyes or angry with shaking fists.