We've been spending a lot of time in the woods lately, in part because the weather tastes like crispy baked goods having a sweater festival in my mouth and in part because there aren't any resumes or phone calls or bills if you can walk to a spot where the branches blot out the sky, there's just trees and dirt and wind and rocks and other things that don't give a shit about dance music.
Besides, it's nice to be outside.
It's quiet like church is quiet, and I'm an interloper there too, but the dirt feels soft under my feet and if I keep walking I can forget that this isn't the place where I live. The air tastes different and I can feel it rush clear and cool through my chest. All this time I thought I was breathing I realize I was taking in water, barely inflating beneath the weight on my chest.
So this is what air tastes like. I think I remember.
It's getting colder at night and it creeps through the crack in the door and curls up inside my chest in the cavity between my sodden lungs, and soon I'll run back, tearing through the woods to shake the ice from my fists. If it shatters into a million pieces in the sunlight I know I'll be alright.
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.