Do you remember birds?

How they would sing to their friends. The wet drippings of their forest home would harmonize, filling the air with bright green.

In the evenings, we used to rush to the cliff tops as the sun dipped beneath the waves, casting gold to the hidden deep.

The world is bare and quiet now.

Breathing, automated. Animation, blank. Colors fight to crack through thick ash.

Heartbreak, constant.

Sometimes, when I first open my eyes, I forget; I can almost hear them. The fierce trills and melodies echoing in a world that used to sing.