Day 37.

Blerp.
The only thing michael told us for this one was "picture yourself in a place." not really sure where it's gooooing per se. percy weasely. eva marie tells me "don't be cute." ahh self hatred, hello there.

I'm standing in a redwood tree. A giant sequoia, so there's room for you and me and so much else. I look up and see light through the blackened edges at the very top of this fire-scarred behemoth. From where I squint, the top of the tree is shaped like lips, straining to eat up the sun, the sky, the rain.
It's raining now, but the spongy bark expands in a welcome for the rain.
Below me, the sunken pieces of bark, the littered leaves that grew useless and coddled the tree when it was only a sapling, these now disintegrate under my feet.
There you are, beside me, and you're wearing that face, the one I love.
You're untangling the spiderwebs from your hair, guiltily trying to rehang them like you're in someone's home instead of a tree.
I listen to the rain hitting our tree in a muffled rush, like it's sneaking up on us. A couple drops find their way to the hollow above my lip, drift into my mouth. It tastes of forest blood, sweet and tangy, like a thrown punch.
The last punch you threw ruined everything. I can feel you avoiding the subject of return,.
The rain slows, becoming the occasional drip of our conversation. And you duck out, whistling the tunes our parents sang us. I look for the next sign. You're putting a green pine cone in your mouth, either to feel the contours or to taste the sap, and i tug at the skin on the back of your hands.
Move on, move on.