Sit with me.

I want to sit, in a forest.

I want to lay out a picnic blanket.

I want to brew a cup of twinings tea.

And I want to sit, criss-crossed in the middle of a forest, with tall arching trees that intertwine with each other, blurring the lines that distinguish who’s who, and hide the brilliant sky that lies past them.

I want to lay back, with a book as my pillow, and watch the stillness of the branches.

I want to shut my eyes and breath in deep, finding joy in the fresh world that I breathe in.

I want to watch the air above me as if it is suspended and completely halted, while I secretly smile to myself thinking as if I am the only living thing beneath the masses.

Yet I cannot be fooled that I am alone in my living, as I look back once more to see that the world has come alive beneath these trees, within this forest.

And so I come here, to stare at the world from underneath a forest, to lay upon the hard ground and find comfort in the gravel, to hum to myself a sweet melody that arises from my carelessness and ease. I want to sit in a forest.

And I want you to sit with me.




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