The forest is quiet, in the loosest sense of the word. Animals move distantly through the underbrush. The treetops far above rustle gently in the wind. Birds chatter and sing. Behind you, somewhere, you can hear the sound of water.
Here, there is a sense of peace. Everything is known. Everything is perceived.
//"I tried to hide my memories of you in a place you'd find them," the echo of a voice says. "But maybe telling you defeats the purpose of hiding them at all.
Honestly, I think you see right through me, most of the time. So why hide it?
Anyway, all you have to do is listen for them. It'll come to you, if you do."//
[[So listen.->1]]
The water, the wind, the trees. The hum of living things. The sounds of lives being lived.
[[In the trees, a bird is singing.->2]]
[[Water rushes among rocks. Somewhere behind you, a river is winding its way to the sea.->3]]
[[If you listen hard enough, if you quieten your breathing just a little, you can almost hear a flower straining to bloom.->4]]
In the melody of a bird, something more nostalgic manifests. A song within a song, riding the wind, wraps you in a memory like a warm blanket.
//In a song, you find a memory that feels like autumn; soft and faded, a time for rest and peace. A heaviness in the air, a cold prickle on skin, brings the promise of future rain.
There is a tinge of coldness in the air of this memory, a sign of things to come. But not quite yet; winter has not quite arrived. The fading warmth of autumn still exists, here and now; a moment that goes on as long as you stay, as long as you want it to.
"It's quiet, with you," says that distant voice. "I feel better when you're here. You're comforting to be with.
I feel better. Like I can breathe more easily.
With you, I feel like I can rest."//
[[Breathe deeply. Listen again.->1]]
The sound of the water beats restlessly on the rocks, on the banks. Pushes its way impatiently, tumbling over itself, to its destination.
In the flow of running water, a memory lives. It falls like rain over you, and yet it leaves everything exactly as it was. It leaves only the briefest reminder that it was there at all.
//It might be strange to see yourself walking in a place you have never gone. The forest here is ablaze with autumn colours; the sky is full of stars. The moon never moves. Night lasts forever; as long as you want it to.
You are always looking at something, always moving. Always wandering. This is not your vision; your thoughts are your own. But the person who this dream belongs to follows you here and there, looking where you look, in an apparent fascination.
"I notice things more now than I used to," the voice says, contemplatively. "Everything around me is so much more vibrant than it was.
You've changed me.
I know you're scared of that. But it's not bad, sometimes, to be changed a little. To see the world the way you see it, and love it the way you do.
I think it's worth it. This change in me."//
[[You surface from that memory of stars and seasons, like surfacing from water.->1]]
Somewhere nearby, a flower is blooming.
Its quiet struggle for completion is just on the edge of hearing, a gentle whisper. Compared to this, the quiet noise of the forest is almost deafening.
Within its fragile petals, reaching towards the sun, lies a memory. Waiting patiently to be born.
//"I knew you'd find this one," the voice says. There's a pride in it, of sorts. "You notice things that other people don't."
In it there are the memories of holding something close to you, something precious. It's not always clear what it is; the ones most distinct are objects, or animals. Soft and frail. Small and fragile. There is a fascination there, but love, too.
Sometimes you are holding someone's hand. Sometimes, they pull away, and your hands look like they have been hurt.
"I won't tell you how to feel, but it's not your fault. Who you've lost.
Maybe you wish you could have done more, sometimes but you did all you could. You loved them as much as you could, and sometimes they didn't deserve it.
But you offered it to them, anyway. That means something.
You have always cared."
The echo of a voice far away sounds like it's about to cry. There is a certain waver in it that begets sadness.//
[[A flower cannot unbloom itself, but you can look away from it, at least for a while.->1]]