Work Text:
The winter forest air is a thin thread that enters me and swirls deeper still, tingling at the inner sensitive nerves that I thought dormant.
I pass the birches, one of the very few things that I have come to love since I last remembered myself. I halt my pace and wait by one, entranced, catching my breath as my heart has been racing. The tree patterns observe me intently.
I am not running from a beast, I am not pursued. Perhaps that is what I would have preferred. But no, I am the one trying to catch that is yet to be mine.
It is an aching feeling. I feel it at the tip of my fingers and deep inside my intestines. Waves of pressure like sudden earthquakes. Anticipation.
Where it came from, I do not know. It matters little to me overall. I take a step and the folds of my coat rustle. I am reminded where I am. Yet I fall head first back into my thoughts.
There is something about you.
Something I cannot put my finger on, either. I could see myself in you, if you asked. Parts of me that pulsate similarly to yours. It is nauseating, intoxicating.
I am deeply inspired.