I don't want to go. I've experienced this many times before. In dreams and in visions. But when I kneel and touch the wet grass below me, I can feel deep down to my core that it's real. I think this is where we go when it's all over.
The horizon. The mountains fall from the sky, but they never hit the ground. Leaves dance in the wind but never collide. They're carefree. They've already learnt to forget.
So just like in my dreams, I know where I have to go. Only now I know why. I have to learn from the leaves and the mountains. So I let out sigh and begin to tread along this vast, almost infinite, plateau.
I don't want to go. But I want to forget.
The wind begins to hug me, embrace me. I am lifted to the leaves that follow me, whispering things through their dance -- stories without ending, life ending with death but not with closure.
And they carry me to the mountains, and the mountains tell me nothing. So I shed a tear for who I was.
And I let go. Forget it all.
