It was in their boiling blood

So for the majority of the population, 

they see what they want and obnoxiously pluck it

from the unsuspecting tree that they will always ignore. 

For me personally, I haven't yet so harshly yearned for such things in this tenacity. 

I for some reason never learned to act on selfish impulses alone. 

Not because I've never had the impulses themselves 

because what kind of person would I be 

without the twinkling sense of disregard for others?

Perhaps I've never acted on them because I like all of this torture. 

That burning in my throat watching all that I could love 

stay perpetually caught up in a tree, 

growing and thriving while I take walks surrounded in it,

 this black spring air not yet warm enough to give life,

but very much cold enough to take mine, 

and bitter enough for me to let it. 

There are so many ways for your heart to get what it wants. 

But unfortunately, waiting for what you want to be perfectly ripe 

at the exact momet you stand beneath the tree 

just in time for it to fall directly into your hands on a good hair day is actually really hard. 

And even so, for some reason, when I have no clue what I want,

no one else does either, so I'm always a bit stuck.

But then, every once in a while, 

I'll find this one flowering tree with just this one blossom 

that just looked so ready to fall and so I waited. 

I let each petal grow in the love of the sun and the rain,

and eventually, I would nurture it with mine as well. 

But as per usual, nature's plan and mine don't coincide as his perfect petals

wrap and intertwine themselves with a perfectly straightened out stem that

I'd have never been able to give him if I'd downed the chlorophyll myself.

And God knows that I very well would have.

But each and every time that this happens, I realize that she can give him so much more

simply because they live in the same place and time, on the same wavelength,

their hearts beat in rhythm with each other and they're of the same kind. 

The fluidity of her blood now runs through his veins frantically

like the fire that would burn their tree.

Such as the spirit of their love will find its way to my lungs 

and he will flow through the open air and into someone else

who can breathe him in without being infected by his rapidly spreading, charming moss

which would prove to be even more contagious. 


I've long relinquished my roots for stalky legs. 

For an eternity, I begged for the tree to take me back into her warm embrace, 

but I suppose this was her plan.

Don't get me wrong,

the legs are beautiful, 

but all of a sudden I've forgotten what to do with them.

I've been walking for an excruciating while,

perhaps the best thing that I can do with the dying breath of that once looming tree

that caved into my whims as I did to his is to revel in her ashes and not use them at all.

I will let my body fall silent in his and her memory until I myself feel ready enough 

to find him,

or forget about him entirely. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.