Jiji's Journal tehe

"Begin what," I want to ask. But maybe it's because it's a dream that my voice refuses to come out. Something compels me to nod anyway.

The air shakes as his chuckles get louder, the butterflies' forms shaking and tearing with each quake.

His hand reaches out to me, palm up, as if asking for something. There is a pressure inside my skull, around my eyes, as I stand paralyzed watching that leathery hand with yellowed nails creak closer and closer to me.

My heart is about to explode.

The scenes I see in my sleep burn themselves into my eyes, so much so that they often overlap with the scenes I see in reality.

Particularly, when I see trees.

I feel as though if I look behind the thick oak trunks, the man will be sitting there, still watching and waiting. With his thin lips stretched out into a kind smile that reveals his hollow mouth, spindly limbs wrapped around him, as if to hide from something.

With the rustle of leaves that each rush of breeze brings, I can almost hear his chuckles, whispery and brittle but steady, as though my presence gives him the little strength it takes to keep him from shattering.