Whispers of the Forest

Do you hear it?

The whispers in the trees.

Soft, like a sigh that never fades,

Like a voice too afraid to be heard.

The wind tells stories,

In languages we forgot how to speak.

Of longing. Of loss. Of love.

Of names carved in bark

long before we learned to let go.

And I wonder—

if I stand still enough,

if I breathe slow enough,

if I close my eyes and just listen—

Will the forest remember me too?

Because I remember it.

The crunch of leaves beneath my feet.

The scent of rain lingering on moss.

The way silence here never felt empty.

So I stay.

Between roots and echoes,

between what was and what still lingers.

And I whisper back—

in a language only the trees understand.