"How does it feel to be so alone, to be so beautiful, and have nothing?" -James Tate, from Return to the City of White Donkeys

Excuses

My father and I decide to go on an adventure to the forest. He holds my hand as we walk through the beginning, young, sparse trees. Do they know we’re here I say. My father doesn’t hear my tiny voice. The windy day makes all the leaves rustle, and, in between each rustle, I hear tiny whispers, all sounding like my voice. I walk closer to my father, clutching at his hand tighter. He continues in a steady pace. The trees are growing older, getting larger, more dense. Are they here to hurt me I say. My father has grown taller as I look up. Or, I have grown smaller. He towers over me now, and looks down unflinchingly, unnoticing, as if I wasn’t there. I wrap my arms and legs around his thick lower leg, and cling as it moves forward and back. The sun barely comes through the thick canopy above us, and, in the increasingly rare moments of light, my father’s face is becoming more textured. The whispers are becoming more audible. Will we ever leave here safely I say, regretting the trip altogether. My father was gone. I’m in a vast-feeling darkness, surrounded by trees, all telling me directions to something in a language I don’t understand.