I’m going to leave this book of the night, these pages I’ve been writing and protecting for so long, in the hollow of the tree, our tree. Maybe one day someone will find them and read them, or they’ll get wet and return to their origin, to the trees where they began, and these words will become the woods, will be purified by the sap, will glow in the roots. Or maybe they’ll disintegrate into a void that caresses, governs, hurts.
