(Trigger warning if you have ever suffered depression or suicidal thoughts)
I thought about writing this as a poem, but I didn't care enough to format it in a specific way. So, disjointed prose it is. Tonight I left my body while driving home. Trees blurred past my windows and I became transfixed on the shadows ahead, places my high-beams couldn't reach. Since I couldn't see what those shadows were, I dusted off my rusty childhood imagination and used it. I pretended these shadows were dim-lit white pine forests exhaling after an afternoon rain. This was (and is) a place I have always found in my moments of disconnection. The early-Autumn breeze was my incense, my guide to out-of-body experiences.
I strolled through the mental woods and realized the imprint I left behind as a misunderstood teenager ten years ago. This forest was my solace from decisions like: will he ever date me, should I kill myself, or should I run away? Now that I'm 27 years old, in the forest I worry about more ph