Pisaries Creator

Snow doesn’t fall in the summertime as rain rarely falls in the wintertime when there is snow on the ground. The trees are heavy with the whiteness. The powder turns yellow over time from dogs and a black from car exhaust. By springtime, I wish it didn’t snow at all. The pristine image of fresh snow brings joy to my face. Now it is no longer the winter. It isn’t even spring. It’s a time of ugliness. What should be a series of rebirth and growth is a long sentence of death. Here is where this short life begins and where it will end. I was not the one responsible for this birth and death. Still, there is someone blaming myself for what happened as if I had the power to control the cycles of every creature, every year.

I’m much more comfortable in finding my voice in the silence of nature. I envision myself as a nurturer of nature even though I once drove a gas guzzling car. A thought always crossed my mind when I’m alone among the rocks and a tiny sliver of water that barely fits the description of a stream. Why am I here in such a beautiful place when the inside of myself is rotten? My mind has been riddled with thoughts not of my own. They haunt me while I’m sleeping. They take up my precious time during the day. I don’t want them in my life but for the last 30 years, they have proven to stay.

I have become someone else and wonder if the tree limbs are screaming at me for stepping on their dead brothers and sisters. The green leaves slowly die from lack of nutrition and sunlight. When I bend over, I feel their pain. I have no choice but to touch them one more time. My mind works differently than most, even the trees that disapprove of me say so. After a while my body is uncertain for why I came to this place when I first landed. All I should’ve done is turn around and go back to where I was familiar. I should’ve asked myself, ‘what is my face supposed to do here?’ Instead, I shoved darkness back down my throat. I didn’t like to taste the regurgitation of my weakness and haven’t done it since.

Because I was here to learn about this foreign place, I stayed away from the others who might’ve recognized me. My caution was enough to remain safe. I learned to love nature and adopt this way of simplicity. The others that came after me found refuge in the city, that lifestyle became their safety net. Even though I was capable of morphing into familiarity for others, I found something lacking. The excitement I had for this place turned into another fulfilled duty. Now, I wanted to leave.

At some point, the snow disappeared, and I found myself under the hot desert sun. The prickles of the cactus as my cushion and the rocks as my pillows were harsh on my bones and flesh. I have ingested more useless facts. The inhabitants of this place haven’t learned from any time, past or present. This led me to trust my conclusion.  They would not have much happiness in their futures. This place was never a wonder they call Earth. The endless drivel from their mouths. I begged them to take me away from this awful place. If they had to kill me, I wouldn’t mind. I was told ‘no.’

I slept in remote areas near the bases of countless mountains. I made friends with a large creature at night. There were many enemies out there wanting to kill him. If it wasn’t for my appearance, he never would’ve embraced me as a trusting soul. He had lots of corners to hide in but since hundreds of years had passed, the dark areas had dwindled into single digits. He told me his death was nearing. He sensed it and there was nothing he could do to prolong his life. Whenever I looked at him, he gave me a nod. He had accepted his fate. Who was I to help him delay his death?

He knew nothing of my origin and never asked me. I had simply materialized from somewhere. This didn’t matter to him because he knew it was stupid to hold tight onto his existence as much as it was dumb to ask for my true identity. I had survived longer than anyone before me. What good would it do to parade this before him? I never wished I was popular or had more friends. I never wished I had more twenties in my pocket instead of ones and fives. The last night together I thought I saw snow falling on our bodies. Instead, it was ashes from the fire falling onto our heads, letting us know if you don’t want it to last, it usually never does.