The Forest Within

 This evening, standing on the edge of a hill covered in soft grass, I felt my mind slip away into another world. The breeze touched me like an old memory, and for a heartbeat, I wondered, "Have I been here before?" Not here exactly, but somewhere like this… a place of forests, mountains, and endless skies.

What if I once lived that life? I can almost feel it. Running barefoot through meadows that stretched like eternity, the grass brushing my ankles, laughter ringing in the air. I see fruits hanging low from trees, and my hands reaching up to pluck them, juice dripping down my chin. I hear the rustle of bamboo groves, filled with birdsong, hundreds of notes weaving together like a secret language only I could understand.

There’s a river in that dream too, white and clear, running wild and free. I imagine sitting on cool rocks at its edge, dipping my legs into the rushing water, splashing until the drops glitter like jewels in the sunlight. I chase butterflies until I fall into the grass, my heart light, my spirit unchained. No schedules. No burdens. Only the joy of being alive.

I picture a hut, or maybe a little treehouse hidden among the leaves. Mornings smell of earth and dew. Evenings glow with fireflies. Wild animals aren’t strangers there; they’re companions. I climb mountains, my skin scratched and bruised, but I know the forest’s medicines, I know how to heal myself. The wilderness is not harsh; it’s home.

At sunset, I sit on a giant rock, watching the sky melt into gold and crimson. Birds fly home in soft arcs across the horizon, and somewhere far away, a temple bell hums, its prayer floating through the air like a lullaby. I close my eyes and breathe it in, as if my soul remembers every sound.

Sometimes, I step beneath a waterfall, cold and strong, its roar drowning out every thought, washing me into silence. Other times, I climb high for honey, tasting the wild sweetness straight from the hive. I tuck flowers into my hair, lie on my back in the meadow, and let the drifting clouds carry my dreams.

It feels so vivid, as if it isn’t just imagination but a piece of me, hidden and waiting. And I can’t help but ask: Was it a life I once lived? Did I belong to such a world before? Or is it only the yearning of a girl who wishes to escape, who longs for freedom more than anything else? 

I don’t know. All I know is that, on that hilltop, I felt closer to myself than I have in a long, long time.