Neverland [ ✓ ]

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ENTRY:
0:00

Rain falls gently from gray skies.

She is watchful with green eyes in equal shade to her coat and to the forestry. Familiar, thin auburn hair falls listlessly over her aged and freckled face from the bundle it's been tied into on top of her head. This woman looms on the porch of her old home; it is rotting, overgrown and strung in police tape. 

She is in lovely contrast to it's state of disrepair. 

Sliding a cigarette between her lips, scouting the terrain that I exist among, I see that she is much older. Thin, pale lips cradle the burning tobacco as she breathes it's toxins, an angular jaw and sharp collarbones protrude from her softer features every time she takes a drag. She could be mistaken for eighteen, but at other angles, she could be forty. I watch as she plucks the cigarette from her mouth and exhales, her free hand brushing the corner of a leather booklet poking freely from her coat pocket, tugging at it before letting it go again as if contemplating it's use.

She is worn out by a harsh existence; but still, she is just as beautiful as she's ever been. 

After granting herself a final hit, she releases a stream of smoke and stamps it out. Cigarette extinguished underfoot,  she walks down the broken stairs and jogs into the dewy overgrown grass. The rainfall grows heavier as she treks through the clearing in the direction of the ancient muddied pathway. 

 I slip deeper into the fog.

ENTRY:
0:00

Prompted by disturbances, she has stopped several times now on the trail, lingering in her tracks. 

The slightest crack of a twig or hush of a fallen leaf leaves her searching the forest with lost eyes, sad and cautious as a fawns. I am fascinated by her sensitivity and her willingness, I am entranced by this change in her, how she seems to have matured even further beyond her years. Everything about her is something to behold; she is dainty but hardened, flawlessly flawed.

After all these years, she has not left me disappointed in her evolution.

ENTRY:
0:00

Droplets of rain dot the pink and white flowers scattered widely about the forest, their sleepy heads nodding in the soft breeze, petals bowing at her feet. It is apparent that she has taken notice of this display and it's familiarity. 

Briefly, she stops to observe, drinking in the pastel scene. Like a chemical reaction, a display of recognition flashes across her thin face, her lips drawing taut. There are memories she associates with these delicate white blooms, a constant reminder of who she is- who I am. 

It's my fault that she sees such pretty things so morbidly, now, undoubtedly.

The blooms grow ample as she reaches the creek, a great divide between her world and ours, rushing with vapid waters growing harsher with every gust of wind and rain. Farther up the channel, water cascades treacherously down mossy rocks, the creek winding around the forest until it can no longer be seen. A tall, fallen tree struck down my lightening joins one bank to the other. 

It is her only path.

Acknowledging this, she steps so that the toes of her boots graze the log's edge. Small fish skitter across the water beneath it, lively in the rain, shiny bodies bidding a farewell. The forest roars with life under the weight of water. 

As the sun sets behind curtains of clouds, it casts a red glow across the bellies of the fluffy masses of storm clouds, lighting up the sky with a dark sort of light. The world seems to present itself at it's fullest, only for her, knowing that this will be the last time it will encounter her this way. The way she watches it with awe..