The murky flavor of this forest was tinged with despair, and yet I continued stubbornly to wander through this wilderness for many years. Somewhere in the distance, a firefly was dancing, I promised myself. I reached back into the past for the memory of faint voices of encouragement; then I would move on with a sigh.
When I was embraced, it was only by a dark angel, who reflected the dusky indigo depths of my own gloom. My dream-darlings, I turned my back on you and stubbornly marched ahead. I memorized a script of suffering, and wore it out in repetitive recitations. Often, I sank into an oblivion where exhaustion was my most constant companion.
There were a few hints, like the time I remembered a dream from early childhood: sunlight on a grassy knoll, and the certainty that roses were blossoming there.
But for the most part, such has been the way of this life. A silence verging on muteness. A series of impossible, tenebrous longings. The preference to remain in obscurity, behind the trees.