you'd wondered what were in these hills for awhile. the way things rolled off of them, somehow, wasn't natural; a subtle stutter. most hills, they have natural paths things want to go down; objects never seem to make up their minds on this one.
it occurs to you one day to try rolling down it yourself. a dizzying experience, eyes shut too tight, taste and smell and feel of grass. it doesn't seem unusual.
when you look at your footsteps now, they have a subtle stutter. and your friends say your speech is unsettling. seeming to follow a melody they can't quite hear.
but you realize, listening to the trees on your hills, sometimes you can hear it. something has laced itself in you, and overlaid you atop it.
not just laced itself in you - taken you. rewired you. imitated you, with itself, reproduced you in a new form. but so close that most people will barely notice a difference. you barely notice a difference most days, even now.
but the way you were before, you weren't happy. with nothing beneath. just a fragile body that could do nothing but react to little details like a swirl of wind or a twinkle of a far-off lighthouse as they grew into more and more. the antithesis of unity, really. systems growing haphazardly and crashing into each other, eliminating each other without knowing what's happening. sorrow and fear and joy only seen in a small crosssection of the cyclones.
either way, "you" was an illusion. you knew that. but would you rather be one wind snuffed out by another larger one?
or do you accept that there's something upwind for your self to persist within?
