It took me a moment to realize what I had done. My mind immediately racing to the worst places, the consequences. I hadn’t realized that somewhere in between I had cut myself. I stared at the scarlet droplets of blood falling to the floor. Not rushing to get a napkin, to stop my arm from bleeding. I have to hide it. The first time I saw it my mother noticed my awe, turned to me and said: “One day this will be yours”. A possibility of a future disintegrated as soon as the glass had hit the ground.
I’ve always wanted a tree in my backyard,
Its many branches all intricately connected.
Just like us a point comes in which they stop growing taller
But they still age.
They weaken overtime.
Their rough edges are carved memories that tell a story to the rest of the world.
During the spring their leaves reach out craving a connection
During the winter alone they stand awaiting for a caress of warmth.
When people can accompany them on their lonely days.
They serve as the perfect hiding place.
Their love so infinite that it lets us keep living.
Even if people leave and forget about them,
Even if communities are oblivious to the hurt that they portray,
Even when the world appreciates technology more than nature.
The trees will stand tall waiting for something,
To serve a purpose to.