𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗

You helped me with everything, especially art. You were my inspiration, the reason I kept going with my forest photoshoots because I knew you were out there appreciating what I did, always looking forward to what I’d create next. You were so special. A true angel. I know I’ll never find anyone as pure as you to be my best friend. I miss you so much.

I remember everything we talked about. I even kept that creepy Yeha bra you gave me, even though it was later destroyed by a thief. I promised you I’d buy you a new one back, but I couldn’t. Life has been cruel to us, so unlucky, like the whole planet hated us for existing. I’m sorry, bby. Sorry that we didn’t talk 24/7 like we used to. I know we both grew up and had our own lives, but I thought about you every single day. I didn’t realize how much pain you were carrying when we weren’t talking. It’s too late now to tell you to stay alive, and I can’t believe this is real.

I still feel you all around me. I know, even in death you’re watching me. And now you can see how pathetic my life is. I just hope you don’t mind the way I’m living. I wish I could have shared your pain, carried some of it for you. I wouldn’t have minded if we died together but you left me first. I loved you, and part of me wanted us to be suicidal angels together. But if I could go back, I wouldn’t let that happen. Instead, I’d lift you up every single day.

It’s almost ten years since we became best friends, and it’s also the ten-year anniversary of the forest. I just wanted you to be here for this. I’m so sorry, bby. I love you. I will meet you again, maybe we’ll finally be in the forest, doing our hair together, dancing around a bog like we always dreamed.

You are my unconditional love.

I’ll find you on the other side.

Is there a portal to another world, buried deep in the forest?

I used to believe-no, ache-for one.

Dressed in something lovely, wandering into that dark, breathing silence,

I wished for a prince with silver eyes and a crown made of thorns.

I wished so hard, I almost believed the trees whispered his name.

But reality does not whisper.

It shouts.

It slaps.

And after ten long years, the trees only echo my own footsteps.

No portal.

No prince.

Only me.

And then, somewhere between the moss and the mourning,

I found something worse and better.

I am the portal.

I am the magic.

I create the world, though the world rarely returns the favor.

But magic is heavy.

It asks so much.

Reality is jagged, and beauty fades under fluorescent lights and unpaid bills.

The feeling I had for the forest

that trembling hope, that sacred ache

is fading like smoke in winter wind.

But not gone.

Never gone.

It lives beneath my ribs now,

A memory I will carry until the last star in me dies out.

Even if the forest forgets me

I will not forget the girl who believed.