free & tall
So I haven't written in here for a while. I don't know why. Several times I have looked back upon the few entries I have made and then just closed out the window as fast as I had opened it. I sit here a bit tired, a bit empty in fact. I don't know what it is, but I feel a little lacking.
Through the window sectioned off by ill-painted wooden blinds, I see the only weeping willow left in my yard. The other was wisked away when it became sick. The one I see bends longingly toward the ground; its branches sag and half of its figure stands in the cooler shade, the other half in the bright sun. Part of it rustles in the wind. It has a song, but I don't know it yet. It has mysteries to be discovered, stories to be had.
Maybe if it gets wisked away, too, I could stand in its place. We are similar in character, yet I don't want to stand in its place. I want my willow to remain standing free and tall.
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