The Child Who Roamed the Forest

Sometimes, when I’m alone,
I find myself longing for the scent of trees.
Like the smell of a forest after rain,
a distant memory quietly rises inside me.

On days when I miss my mother,
strangely…
a vision comes to me—
of myself gently tending to someone’s pain in a forest.
I think I was a child who healed others a long, long time ago.

I didn’t speak,
but I could feel pain through my fingertips.
And I could hear the cries of those
who waited for my touch.

I never approached first.
But when someone came near,
I would silently wipe their wounds.

Maybe that’s why,
even in this life,
I still can’t walk past someone who’s hurting.

And every time that happens,
without realizing it,
I miss that forest again.