The forest has betrayed me.
And it hurts because I wept on that mossy floor.
So this is why I have been stuffing sadness with cigarettes and sandwiches.
Just this morning, three geese flew overhead and my breath didn’t catch in my chest.
Go ahead and go, I thought. How do I know if they are true geese, anyway?
I can’t. Not now.
And the trees still want me to give them my secrets.
I won’t. No. Fuck those trees.
Fuck every last bitter rooted tree too afraid to soak in the pure light that comes to them.
This must be the way, because I just heard O Holy Night.
And I’m sorry to the future trees who I will meet.
I’m sorry for the patience I will require.
I’m sorry for asking you to hand me only bottles that have been unopened.
And I’m sorry it will take me a while to feel comfortable curling up on another moss floor.
And I’m sorry, Cecelia, for all that I have tried to give but failed with this weary opening and closing heart.