Once upon a time, there were five children who weren’t really children.
They were neglected feelings wearing borrowed skin and convictions of no needs.
The first was a boy who felt nothing at all.
He walked through life like a ghost no one remembered dying.
They called him cold, but he was just tired
Of dripping in places no one would whipe.
Inside, he wanted someone to knock on the door he bolted shut.
But no one ever stayed long enough to try.
The second was a dog who was always smiling.
People passed by and said, “What a happy little thing.”
But they put a leash around its neck and called it loyalty.
It wagged its tail even when it hurt,
because someone once told it love is earned through obedience.
So he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one returns.
The third was a boy who swallowed his nightmares.
He thought if he ate them all,
they’d go away.
But they grew inside him like weeds—
and some nights, he screamed in his sleep,
his belly full of bells no one could hear.
The fourth was a hand—
just a hand.
It wanted everything.
It grabbed and gripped and begged to be filled.
But everything it touched turned into something else:
a kiss became a bruise,
a hug became a choke.
The hand never asked, only took.
And still, it was always hungry.
The fifth wore a mask.
A lovely one.
Shiny eyes, soft lips, laughter stitched just right.
She wore it so long,
she forgot who lived underneath.
When people loved her,
she wondered who they were loving.
So she smiled harder.
And disappeared a little more each day.
One by one,
they wandered into the Forest of Almost.
They didn’t mean to meet each other.
They were just looking for silence
that didn’t hurt.
They didn’t speak at first.
They only sat—close, but not touching.
Each one pretending not to notice
how the others looked like pieces of them.
The boy who felt nothing
was the only one who saw the dog’s leash.
The girl with the mask
was the only one who saw the nightmares blooming under the boy’s skin.
The greedy hand trembled when the smiling dog licked it gently,
as if even hunger deserved kindness.
And slowly,
they did what no one else had done for them:
They stayed.
Not to fix.
Not to save.
Just to be.
And maybe that was the magic.
Because in the Forest of Almost,
they didn’t become whole—
but they did become real.
And sometimes,
real is the bravest thing you can be.
