CENTERED SOUL WITH A TERRIBLY DISORGANIZED WARDROBE, 22, NEBRASKA, US
Monday, August 11, 2014
I am in love with a dead tree.
I must be crazy. I can barely even stand to look at it, now. If only you could have seen the magnitude of my tree. It was glorious. Not only was it massive, but it also spewed white fluff that floated in the air like fairies. I did not need friends; I had trees. That stump once hoisted a tire swing that flew so high, I thought I would never come down. I loved being weightless, if only for a moment. One day a stranger came, and too my horror they cut my tree down. A child would not understand that a tree of that size so close to a house would be a hazard if it died. From my perspective they were murdering my best friend. Now my tire swing is a distant memory, and all that is left is a striped tomb stone full of insects. We learn what it means to mourn at a young age, even if our elders do not understand.