When I was a kid I always dreamed of living in a peaceful forest, with the stars as my roof and the grass as my bed. I used to talk to the maple in the front yard that stood strong between my house and the road. Many times I climbed up it and hugged its trunk as the wind swayed us both. It was terrifying but at the same time calming. I felt safe and at peace. "I hope you don't mind me climbing you so often." I'd say with my face pressed against its rough trunk. That was when magic still existed for me. I believed I felt love being returned to me by this still life form that lacked sentience.

This queer fondness for trees followed me into adulthood. Walking through the park was almost a form of meditation. I once stopped in my tracks to observe a tree that had a vine wrapped so tightly around it that it's trunk had become warped. Snapping the vine in half was as impossible as doing the same to a rope, and I didn't have a knife handy. With no other choice, I begun picking at the vine one strand at a time until I worked my way through it completely. I untangled the vine from the tree and walked home satisfied.

Those were wonderful memories, as wonderful as my memories of sitting by a fire, warm and happy, thanks to the wood my family received from a friend. Or drawing a picture that my dad would proudly hang on the fridge. It seems a lot of my favorite memories are connected to trees.

Even this last memory as well. Wait did I say last memory? What was I talking about again? Aaaah I wish I had that warm fire beside me. It's too cold and quiet. Was my park always like this? No. It was my solace. And now it is where I rest.

I look beyond my glazed eyes, attempting to see through the dampness that fills them. It's dark but I still see the gentle glow of moonlight peeking through the leaves above, growing brighter from a gust of wind. I close my eyes once more and let the rustling fill my ears until finally all is still.

...

I can't seem to move anything but my conciseness has returned. Am I in a hospital? It doesn't seem like it. My head was unharmed so why is it that I cannot see or hear anything? My thoughts are distracting, I need to calm myself. Concentrating, I finally feel something. A gust of wind tickling my body, a soft but firm bed where I am planted, and warmth! Sunlight! Soft, warm, gentle, delicious sunlight! Wait did I say delicious? It does taste good though.. as if I was a plant. Actually, I think that's exactly what I am!

It's just a hunch, but I'm almost positive that I couldn't have survived after all. I guess dying is just one of those things that is hard to imagine, but in the moment, you know. I didn't expect to die so young, but I can't say that I've died with regrets. Life had its difficulties, as it does for everyone, but I was eventually surrounded by people who loved me. It was a good life.

Now it seems as though I've been reincarnated. My world has become smaller, yet my conciousness remains as it did in my past life. I read in a book once that humans were the end of the reincarnation cycle. Once a human passes, it's soul is taken back to the beginning. It makes sense that I would become a plant, but why would my memories stay with me? Are they here to accompany my soul in this binding form? Or is it a mistake, a bug in whatever was responsible for sending off my soul?

I'm not getting any answers at this rate. And even if someone did answer me, there would be no way for me to hear them. I guess my first task would be to learn how to see or hear. Is it even possible for a plant to learn these things though? Then again, is it even possible for a plant to have sentience? I don't think I can rule out anything at this point.