anguish

The forest does not care that I am here.

I used to find that unbearable.

Now I think it is the closest thing to mercy I have known.

People are always asking us to become something.

To explain ourselves.

To justify the space we occupy.

The trees ask nothing.

They neither forgive nor condemn.

They simply remain.

Perhaps I have mistaken indifference for peace.

Or perhaps peace has always looked like this

a world that continues

without requiring me to perform for it.