WHY DO I exist? she wonders.
Resting her head on her knees, she wraps her arms around her thin legs. She lets spools of gray mist swirl around, wrapping her and the trees in soft wet silver.
Is there a point for her to exist, she wonders. What could it be?
The questions dig down into her sense of self like thorns without roses, but she does not mind. She is too… A blank bubble leaves her wordless, but what the lost thought is, she is not it, and so she cannot mind.
Written: 25 August 2015