[open] illicit affairs; any

[Sparrow]

You're supposed to be able to lose yourself in this forest. The prospect of it sounds less terrifying than it does intriguing at this point in my life. The problem with becoming lost when you're alone, of course, is that it doesn't really matter. Wherever you are, you're already by yourself. Usually I like being alone. Once upon a time I was never by myself. I was the quietly adored and well raised daughter of a king who wasn't quite sure what to do with his motherless child. I was happy in a way that would be difficult to replicate as an adult. As most things do, it didn't last. Over time family members disappeared or died, and I lingered. When I let myself reminisce, it's my father I miss most of all. He wasn't particularly creative or "fun" in that sense of the word. (I would honestly not be surprised if he simply glanced around and named me after the first thing he saw. In which case I should be grateful he didn't see a twig or a rock or something.) But he was mine and he loved me in a world of craziness, which made him infinitely special. He indulged my goofy sense of humor and my incessant chatter and he never made me feel less than. When he and the rest faded away, I grieved, but I also discovered the parts of me that were hidden amongst the everyday chatter. Those discoveries are what gave me reason enough to get up and move on. I learned that I liked the silence. I learned that being by myself made me more observant and willing to take risks. If I fucked it up, who was there to disappoint? Only myself, and my standards were to simply keep going. I learned that I was cliche enough to want to love and be loved but skeptical enough to avoid most contact that might make it possible. I'd like to pretend that's what compels me toward the sparser parts of this forest now. Companionship. (It's fun to pretend.) The land has changed around me over the years but I've learned bits of it well enough to navigate in the darkness that now seems to be the new normal. I concentrate on putting one hoof down at a time and make my way to a small mossy clearing. The sort of place that would lend itself to romance once upon a time. Now it feels like a place that's too exposed to whatever goes bump in the night. It's probably stupid to choose this spot, but I choose it anyways, already worn out from pretending the dozens of ways a conversation with my first live encounter in ages will go. I decided I have a 50/50 shot of garnering a discussion, simply based on being the idiot with the blazing white mane and tail standing by herself just begging to be attacked or eaten. At this point, I'm committed. I'll take what I am given. S P A R R O W texas x redbird this time it's different