Photo by: https://unsplash.com/photos/trees-on-forest-with-sun-rays-sp-p7uuT0tw
Don’t Go Into That Forest
They tell me not to go into that forest, and I don’t know who they are, but they always appear when I start thinking about things with no clear ending. The forest is dark, but not scary — just unknown, and people don’t like what they can’t name. There are no paths there, no signs, no one telling you this way or that.
I think about how the forest looks like the thoughts I push under daily tasks, under messages, under notifications. They say don’t go in because you’ll get lost, but maybe getting lost is the only way something can be found. If I keep walking the same road, I’ll always see the same trees, the same shadows, the same exit.
There are no clocks in the forest and that makes me uneasy. I don’t know how long I’ve been inside, I don’t know how much longer I can go. But while I’m writing, I realize nothing bad is happening. I’m just walking and listening to my own steps. Sometimes I trip over a thought, sometimes I stop because I don’t know what to write next, but that’s part of the path too.
They say don’t go into that forest because there are no answers there, but maybe they’re wrong. Maybe there are no answers you want, but there are answers you’ve been avoiding. And maybe they’re not beautiful, but they’re real. And while I’m writing this, I realize I didn’t enter to find an exit — I entered to stay a little longer.
Maybe the forest is just the place where I stop pretending I know everything.
Photo generated by AI
