Alone in a meandering wood, towering pines stretched as far as the eye can see. Distance irrelevant, space and time coalesced to a whiff of sumptuous sweetness that makes my body ache. Pining for you. The forest floor is littered with small remembrances, concepts, dates, good times and bad, all underfoot as I advance through the mournful wood. I mourn a love that never got to spread its wings. It is dawn ahead, but dusk behind. Or vice versa. Pining for you is quiet, in stark contrast to the loudness of our love. A cool breeze lifts my hair, makes me weep, chills my bones.
There is a clearing, an absence, somewhere in the wood. I have stumbled upon it before, and I stumble upon it again, now. A warm meadow of soft flowers and lazily buzzing bees, of bashful deer and sly foxes, of cleansing warmth and radiant light. I stand in the meadow and breathe. The air is sharp and clear, as though atop a distant summit, and my feet are sunk into the soft earth. High and low.
Alone in that meandering wood, I meander no more. I have not found purpose, but I have been found. Songbirds sing my praises as I crash through the underbrush, full of meaning, full of love and laughter and life. Love and laughter and life that can be yours, if you want it. Even still, it can be yours. But it will always be mine.
Jordan Ray is a person currently residing in Lansing, Michigan, who writes things sometimes, especially when he is sad or scared or stressed.