The days that grow inside me are like trees that form a forest of memory.
Sometimes I get lost in its beauty and danger.
Sometimes I lie on it, admiring how the sun rays shine through the leaves, the remembered details from one of those days. The memories shared with the ones I love.
I notice the connection between one tree and another, one forest and another, and how everything seems to be one thing, perfect in every detail and at the same time chaotic and impossible to understand completely.
Sometimes the forest scares me and I run. Sometimes I get hurt by a thorn, and it hurts.
Sometimes the forest burns, the flames suffocate me. When it is over, I sit on a rock watching the ashes of what was a garden, and everything seems oppressive and meaningless, and I cry.
The forest feeds me and devours me as it grows. And one day it will die.
All I can hope for is that the seeds it generated will grow into beautiful trees in the forests of other minds, as they did in mine.