There are wounds that refuse the mercy of the open air. They retreat beneath the old trees, beneath the roots, beneath everything that has learned to grow around them. There, in the green-black silence, the body remembers what the mind has tried to bury. The darkness presses against the skin with the slow insistence of a hand that will not let go. Every buried thing dreams first of being released. But release is not always freedom. Sometimes it is only another name for scattering. So the roots descend. The breath becomes heavier. The old shape begins to loosen. And somewhere beneath the weight of earth, where no witness can follow, the first surrender occurs. Not to death. To gravity. RAW INFINITE PRESENCE © Kuro / 2026