Trees never cease to grow, they cease to exist. Always replacing what dies off and blooming after ice threatens to freeze. I often wondered, as a child, if trees could un-grow their branches.
Just in case they changed their mind.
Wondered, foolishly, if what already exists can be taken back. Does an echo vanish after constant silence, or merely breaks down to a whisper bouncing between ears that silence themselves to hear it? I found myself wondering this, as an adult, trying to un-grow what can only be cut.
My roots wanted to break.
They prefered to unhinge over feeling the snap of vines that refused to let go, that felt the absence of fire as they became catatonic. The last time you looked at my naked soul, it felt cold. Seasons don’t last forever.
Everything that freezes, melts.
LaMeta 
Leave a comment