If wisdom is just thicker skin, then I’ve got tree bark growing on my arms. My roots are rotting, but my branches are reaching out. Would you climb me? Take the risk with each foothold, higher and higher till you can see the entire forest from the trees. Don’t stare too long, I just want you looking at me.
I’m rooted into the ground, but I want to be the one you carve your initials into. The one you tie the rope swing on just to jump off. The one that helps hold your hammock so you can sleep under my branches. My leaves may fall, but the fact is I’ve already fallen for you thousands of times.
Every season is just another cycle, where I grow and watch you sit there in your most sullen moments, and your happy ones too. Is there a moment that you notice me? Is it when the leaves fall? Is it when my branches are held down by snow? Is it the blooming colors of autumn, or the dew on my leaves as the sun turns over again? It turns over again, like the spark that I see in your eyes.
I’m forgetting you like each tree, with the past seasons leaves. I decided that I’m done watching as suns pass by horizons. That dark, green flash of night loaded with darkness of my loneliness.
But I do not want to. I don’t want to admit that we might both fade into something different, bleeding our love into other hearts. I don’t want to be the willow tree, weeping into the weeds, and sowing sadness into the swamps underneath. You might carve your initials into someone else’s bark, and mine would bleed for centuries yearning for you.
Would you stare at me until we both fade? My love is the fruit that I wish to grow, that I wish you to take with your delicate touch. Others have reached, but never held on. I’ll let you pick it though, as I have never let another before. Will you hold me tight? Please hold me right.