Forest
"The unending forest rests at the end of reality. Or so they say. You can only find it when you are on the brink of death. And if you do escape it, there is a slim chance, you never remember your stay there."
"If you can't remember anything, how can you be sure if it even exists?"
"It isn't the memory itself that matters, but rather, the lack of it. The empty space that is left, a black hole in the back of your conscience, which stays with you until you die. Whenever the forest is mentioned, you become aware of this emptiness. You feel the breeze blowing through the hole in your conscience, guiding falling leaves."
"How is it unending, if the only thing you have of it is an impression?"
"You're misinterpreting things. It's not the forest itself what is unending. It has a physical end and physical entry. Even limit markers."
"I don't understand."
"What is unending is her real meaning. Her whole existence lacks the breath of reality, but it's not lifeless. It burrows beyond your comprehension and it eats your sanity like a parasite, feeding itself, growing larger and larger with each passing decade. There was a city here before. Now, it's buried under the forest. You can see it jutting under the tree roots sometimes. The pointy end of a fence picket. The hinge of a door. The hand of a corpse."
"It spits out life, that I've heard."
"It doesn't spit anything. You can't pull anything out no matter how hard you try. The forest roots snare the old city. What juts out is only a display of what it can do. She has no desire to ever let them out."
"How the hell do you even know this? You said yourself that nobody remembers it, that it's only something akin to an impression caused by the lack of memory itself. What you are telling me is a pretty clear picture."
"I didn't tell you anything you didn't want to hear yourself. In reality, our conversation has a meaning which is only known to you and another one that is for me. The veil of illusion makes it seem like we are talking about the same thing. But it's never the same. But we can only be aware of it. The forest obscures her own existence. That's why it lacks real meaning. Because everyone has a particular one, which can never really be shared. Even if you write it down, if you record it, it doesn't matter. In the end, it will always obscure itself."