we drift apart {kousei/rook}

I try to find my way back to all the different places that we used to go on rainy days: hollowed out trees that we made into houses, the rivers of mud over the old hill that we used to slide down in our clean clothes, the old abandoned wells that we would talk about venturing down, but never had the courage to.

But I have forgotten.

I tread over a bed of burned orange leaves, weaving between conifer branches and low-looming pines. The autumn air clings to my skin and wraps it's chilled fingers around my exposed neck. I turn my collar up, turning away from the wind and pressing onwards with my head down. There is a mist that intermitantly swims over the roots around me, dissipating and then reforming again, around the trunks of the redwoods and out over dipping banks of dirt. I exhale, and my breath hangs in the air, like a reminder of the coming winter - and then it's gone.

I feel a presence behind me, a hot energy radiating, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I swivel, my eyes darting to the spaces between the trees, looking for movement.

But the forest is still, and the only sound I can hear is the melancholic singing of woodland songbirds, softly resonating with the whistle of the wind that carries with it the whirring of distant chainsaws. I pause, eyes still scanning, trusting my instinct. There is nothing immediate, but still I feel uneasy, like I am being watched.

I used to love the woods, these days they make me on edge. There is a sickness about the trees, they don't have the same life that they did when I was a kid. They seem colourless to me, tired and without purpose. The woods used to be magical, full of adventure and possibilities, and now it's just a slaughterhouse for the great pines and ancient furs - and it feels like the trees know that.

Still, I like to lose myself, especially when there is so much on my mind. Dendrology is something that I will always find interesting, but my exams have not been enjoyable. Studying takes up most of my day, and come the end I'm so tightly strung that I either need to blow off some steam in the gym or fall straight asleep. Both of those options aren't appealing to me today - so I've set out in search of fuck-knows-what. Maybe a hit of nostalgia.

I stumble upon a path that seems familiar to me - it's a winding trail of old cobblestone, weathered by the elements, but still distinctly recognisable amidst the twigs and leaves. Yes, this path is where my brother and I used to play gate guardians.

"Who wishes to pass through the gate?"
"I do, the mighty Leighton."
"You must first pass the trial of courage!"

I never failed - I'm older than him, and I've always been braver. I'd gain access to the gate - my feet dance one-step, and then two over the cobblestones, retracing my steps from a decade ago, and then up the incline and over to the old oak tree clearing. It is still there, standing tall, ten years a mere blink for this magnificent tree.

I trudge over, my feet dragging wet leaves as I circle the trunk of the great oak, and behind it I find our carving.

L Reye, S Reye

My name chiseled, and then Solaris' carved more jaggedly beside it. I cut my hand doing mine, but I didn't care. I thought I was being cool.

We wanted to be great adventurers who would travel the world, but we ended up being a bookworm and a drug addict.

I think if we met our ten-year-old selves, we'd be disappointed in what we have become. In fact, I know we would.