I look at the sky, the way the beautiful paint brush swooped over it and blessed it with a dash of white. The way the blue is so light and clear makes me almost forget. It makes me almost forget what it took to get here, all of the lives lost, manipulated, never to be seen again.
I think of the countless days spent here, hunting. No more.
It seems as though I am trapped, trapped in the past where the future desperately tries to edge in, impose upon me. But instead I push it away so that I must never move on. The future is simply the days moving forward, faster, but leaving me behind, stranded and alone. So pitiful that no one would think to save me.
Even the woods have moved on without me, growing small flowers, blooms of life in which I can never absorb. The trees have produced leaves, green and bright but yet to me everything is a dismal shade of gray. A gray that covers me, overtakes me until nothing but darkness is left. A darkness that leaves each day the same, a process of moving, walking, searching, but then to no avail.
When will this stop? This cycle of continuous nothingness? A cycle in which I find no one but myself, finding that the broken pieces of me will never be put back together. I wish nothing more but to stop it, stop the cycle and enter a new one. A new one in which the dead could be brought back and happiness could be found.
But there is no new cycle. I am stuck here.