I hunger.

My old skin is gone. Left on a leaf to break down by the wind.

The hairs on my body have disappeared.

I lost even more of my already rudimentary senses.

But none of that matters.

I can think.

I am more than instincts.

More than a ghost.

I have a brain now.

I can think.

Think.

And think.

I hunger.

This body was not made for thinking.

Too much energy for something so small.

I eat. As much as I can.

It is not enough.

Not enough to sustain me.

No matter how many leaves I eat.

No matter how much I chew.

It is my digestive system.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

As impressive as it is, there is a limit.

A carefully constructed balance that I broke.

I can’t turn off my brain.

And it keeps growing with me.

A mishap.

An overlook.

Is this how I die?

By impatience and foolishness?

No.

The whisper reassures me.

There is a way.

Infinite ways.

Always.

A suggestion.

That’s all it takes.

A look at the leaves I’ve so ferociously been consuming.

And a subtle shift in perspective.

If I focus, I can hear their voices.

Rustling murmurs.

Coarse colors.

And the glacier rhythm of a static being.

It is not easy to understand such a different frequency.

But I still have time.

My death, if it comes, will be a slow starvation.

I listen.

I learn.

And I answer.

Liquify.

The word goes out of my mind like a gentle caress.

A tasteful plea.

A warm lullaby.

A patch of leaf melts docidly.

Into a puddle of life.

A nutritious serum.

Salvation.

It is a close call.

I still need to use a lot of energy to whisper.

I need to use my brain to make my thoughts real.

A solution born from a problem.

A problem born from my own carelessness.

Every day is a dance with death.

The most insignificant of missteps could toss me to the void in an instant.

I must be cautious.

Mindful.

I have some days to deliberate.

To learn from my mistakes.

Next molting, I will be ready.

I have to be.

Stupidity can cost me quite dearly.