you asked if you could touch it
it felt soft, warm, nice
and not stiff and cold like you expected
you never dared to do it again.
Rainclouds gathering
you found them hard to look at
yet you forced yourself to look
even though it made your heart
skip a beat
and you had to remind yourself
to keep breathing.
Tangled roots of a birch tree
they were impossibly close to surface
tight fabric making them the more visible
countless times you traced them
with imaginary fingers.
Like the shore, like the sky, like the woods,
you were going by sight and smell
and you weren't really listening
to be fair, there were no spoken words
only subtle signs you couldn't read in time
and then it was too late.
Don't blame yourself too much, though
Even if it could have lasted a bit longer
Every journey has to end sometime
And you would always come back home...
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