Where the Wild Things Wait

I went into the forest with nothing but hunger.

The kind that hums beneath your ribs

and tells you something’s missing—

though it never says what.

___________**

The air was trembling with scent and distance.

I followed footprints that weren’t there,

heard my own breath echo

like an animal I could never name.

___________**

Each rustle was a promise,

each silence, a wound.

The trees leaned close as if to whisper,

What will you do when you find it?

___________**

I thought I was chasing a creature,

but I was chasing the ache itself—

that restless pulse that makes us leave warm fires

for colder dreams.

___________**

The moon was a silver eye watching my failure.

I ran until my shadow tore loose.

I found bones that looked like questions.

I found my reflection in the water’s black mouth.

___________**

And there—

beneath the still surface, I saw it.

The thing I’d hunted all along.

It looked exactly like me,

only quieter.

___________**

I tried to capture it.

But you cannot hold what you already are.

The moment I reached,

it vanished—

leaving only ripples that whispered,

You’ve already been found.

___________**

Now, when I walk through that same forest,

I do not carry my hunger like a weapon.

I carry it like a prayer.

Because some things are meant to be sought,

not caught—

and some hunts are holy

simply because they never end.

***