Meraki.(n.) The soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work. words
The Forest of Our Tomorrow
I walk through the forest of our tomorrow, the light glistens in the distance, almost fading as the sun sets on yesterday.
It feeds me as I embody all grief and hope, and magic. Yes, magic. I feel the magic that only this forest can instil.
I know you. You call me by heart. You speak through the shimmering spaces that your branches create, feeding me wonder with the sun’s flickering colour.
I soak in a freeing heat as the sun shines your light onto my face.
All is not lost as I recall you, here, with me now. Fading, into the depths of night which is crawling ever closer, drawing me to our yesterday. I cling to the falling glow that highlights the path to our future, our life. Together.
I breathe in your dusk air as I begin to fall to the ground to lie with life and death below. I hold the earth in my hands, feeling the dirt cover my palms as I contemplate my oneness with each grain of soil.
I feel its possibility, its gentle grace to grow life from inside and out. I feel its connection to the dark forces of death as it cradles the shells once personified by life, by you.
Night draws closer.
The darkness takes hold of my eyes as I feel the blackness of the sky entwining with the colour of my earth-filled hands.
You are here. We are here. All of our tomorrows, our yesterdays, merging as though this space holds all and nought.
I close my eyes to dream within the forest of our tomorrow, feeling our yesterday grasping my heart.
It is here. All of it.
Life. Death. We.
And you, always you.