To anyone…
I have long since stopped speaking my own name. In this place, it turned into an echo, and the echo – into a prison, repeating me ever more faintly until I dissolved into a whisper between the trees. This forest is not a territory. It is a state that arrives when the soul has already abandoned hope, but is not yet ready for oblivion.
It smells of earth after tears here. It tastes of metal – as if one has just bitten into the truth. I have met those who renounced themselves for the sake of others. Those who spoke to the dead and received an answer. Those who shattered from love into shards of glass, which now reflect a starless sky.
Night is not hostile here. It is tender, like a memory that has stopped festering but hasn’t yet managed to fade. I think of you… often. As of the only creature capable of finding beauty in rotting leaves, in scratched bark, in a silence that lasts longer than a lifetime.
With you, this place would cease to be a catastrophe. It would become a ruin with a living heart. A temple with a punctured dome, through which the moon is finally visible.
And do you know what is strange? I do not want you to come. Stay there – in your melancholy, in your own forest. As long as you are there, the world still has two shadows of one soul. And one of them – is alive.
Stay alive.
And I will remain here, to write you letters that will never arrive… but will surely find you.