The Old Wood

My body is a forest.

My bones push against the soft earth, rising strong and tall like the trunks of trees. They groan in the wind. Easy cyst causing their many fibers to grind together, creating the type of resonance that reminds me that I'm alive. Reminding me that the bones, strong as they are, cannot stand alone.

The leaves are my muscles. They provide sun and nutrients to my system, they support it. They adorn the trunks of my skeletal trees, balancing them in the wind, allowing them to sway, reminding them to reach ever upwards towards freedom. My muscles, like leaves, flourish and die. Presenting my bones with constant quality checks, forcing them to demonstrate their ability to stand unaided or crumble into dust. My skeleton has not yet failed.

There will come a day when it does. When no amount of faith in my own body's ability to survive will allow it to do so. After all, all trees eventually fall.

When we said our goodbyes we made them easy. We said goodbye like the sun says goodbye to the moon, like the waves say goodbyes to the shore before they rush back into its embrace.

We said goodbye like it would be mere moments before we saw each other again. I started counting as I walked away, each breath, each step, each second closer to seeing you again.

It used to seem so certain. Now the numbers have piled up, forming a line stretching to caress the horizon. I can't see the end of it. I can't look back to the moment I began counting. I can't remember our goodbyes.

I'm worried that I'll never see you. Worried that the time between our words will stretch on and on, forming a yawning chasm that will swallow your memory of me, and I will be left alone to search for the memory of our last moments together. After all, you have always moved on easily.