a short story with no discernible plot & no real ending.

Oh, and everything was burning – the bonfire and the light in his eyes and everything in me.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

There’s something about the woods that appeals to me. I never feel like I belong anywhere – constantly a visitor. Here in this city, in this room, in this skin, on this Earth. I’m a quick bit of passing through that, to the world, will be nothing, but to me, it’s been years of turmoil and icky bits of deep, murky blues. But not right now. Not here in the woods. A bonfire in between us and this hazy look in his eyes and everything in me is screaming.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits. I hate white rabbits.

I think I might be in love with him. Impossible. He has this lazy, careless way about him. There’s this odd sense of security I get around him. He’s skin and bones, just like me. But sometimes my mind forgets, and I’m quite sure he holds this whole world together. Impossible.

Can you hear the woods?

The acorns falling, bouncing off leaves on the way down. A crack- the sighing of trees.
Can you hear the owls talking and the other bits and ends of nature scurrying?

That’s all I can hear, the woods. That and my heart pounding and the fire talking.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

I just stare at him. I like his almond-shaped eyes and how he gets little smile lines when he laughed, and I love how he looks when he reads. I like how he walks, how he puts on shoes, and how easily he exists.

I’m at home here. Maybe not in this exact lifetime, but positively at this moment.
Here, where absolutely everything feels on fire. I have to squeeze my eyes closed.

I feel on fire, either with how much I like him or maybe it’s just the smoke in my eyes.

I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits, I hate white rabbits.

Pub. April 13, 2020.