If I had a wish of where to be right now,
it would be a place I know so well—
from all the nights I’ve laid awake in bed.
I have been there more often than I’ve ever really been here.

Old wooden doors, heavy with secrets.
A river rushes past like it’s trying to forget.
I am standing outside a cottage in a place
more rural than any post-apocalyptic silence.

Leaves fall, decay,
and feed the soil beneath them.
What if I was a leaf never meant to see the light?
A leaf designed to fall—for someone else’s spring.
Was I always meant to be expendable?

I tear my eyes from the trees and run into the woods
because my mind refuses to stay still.
No matter how far I go,
it finds a way back to me—
a boomerang to the skull,
and always between the eyes.

The sheep and chickens are my sanctuary.
I’ve named them all.
They are my equals.
We care for each other in this strange,
gentle marriage.

They listen to my stories about you.
I read them things I’d never show a soul—
bare and trembling,
as if I stood in the middle of a city, naked,
just hoping you’d see me.
and I am glad they do not judge.