The Story Of My Life

Love Tree

Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
fluttering from the autumn tree.
–Emily Bronte

***

Oh look how I've grown old and worn. Who says it's been 153 years when a military man's child got my seeds sown. Now I'm known as the love tree. No, No, i don't make people fall in love, those in each other's devotion leave a sign on me. Their names and the heart shapes, the "forever"'s and the cupid's bow, all my friends in the vicinity have grown to know. For years we have been here, covering this beautiful pond, when the sun comes up, the water grizzels to wake us up. This connection was developed almost instantly when I first came here, the only difference was that those times were severe.

The others don't say, but i know they envy me, for i have been adorned in these magical seams. I sound like the old Richard who lives just beyond our boundaries. He is a good man deeply in love with Maria, I know this because about 50 years back they came to me in the chilly winter breeze. I know him since his young age, he was a happy-go-lucky child growing up.

Right here, he had confessed his feelings to her, and she assented hers with the same sincerity. And then they scribbled on me, Richard loves Maria, they wrote, and promised to making a visit to me. They stayed true to their words, i have seen their children play around me and now their grandchildren run encircling me. He gifted her a beautiful pearl bracelet to her on their 25th anniversary. She keeps it safe, close to her heart, for its a memo of something not everyone could get a part.

There was a day when richard came down with his son, james and told him the tale of his love, his hands grazed the bark of me, throwing me in a reminiscing dream. Then i witnessed the sweetness of James' bond with lily, "Young love" my heart had sighed, I almost melted seeing that sight.

All the neighbourhood has paid me a visit, one day or other. Like the times little George and his friends came here to play, circling around me, enjoying with no care in the world. I still can see their joyous faces, non- erasable smiles, whenever I think back to those times. They wrote their names on me.

When George turned 18, he came one day with his same friends, he drew a circle enclosing their names and wrote the date beneath it, promising his friends that after his abroad studies finishes they will meet again here, with me to accompany them. Then they had celebrated once again before he left, it was said he'd return in about 5 years or so but now it's been 12 years since that day. I miss them, I just hope that they didn't forget me.

Sometimes I wish I were a human, so I could be one of them, so I could grow up with them, share more stories, more time with them. But here i am standing at the same place for years, this consistency is eating me out, though it's poisioning my rears.

Have I told you about, Rosy, she was 6 when she first came here with her family, Rosaline Wright, she has grown to be a pretty girl now. She visits me every sunday, touches my bark and smiles, it has become like a greeting between us. Her soft hand caresses my hard bark, and everytime I hurt her I scold myself for giving that smooth skin a rash. She sits here and reads her books, stories people have captured in the form of words. I love listening to her, she rambles to me about her problems, her having no friends in the school, her bullies, everything. I can't stop myself from pitying that girl, when she says I am the only friend she's made to come.

For last two weeks she has been skipping her visits, she never does that, I just hope she's safe and good. I hope she knows I love her as much as she loves me. I hate my helplessness. Me being unable to reach out to her, to help her, to show her how much she's worth of.

These are stories of people to whom I mean very little, but they mean everything to me. I don't know where they are, are they still friends or have turned to foe? What else can I speak about? When I am but a tree.

How can I know, if now I will be the memoribilia times which may pain them? If only one day, one of them returns before an axe cuts me from my roots. I might know if the name given to me was meant or not or was it just a fling for the love tree, sorry for boring you with my meaningless rambling, for what more can an old heart of tree ask for other than to be remembered in people's loving memory.

Seasons came and went, some were tough, some were pleasant. Yet nothing fazed these memories I hold, the signs I bore. There was lack of moisture and minerals, but never the lack of love. I might have died one of those times still I survived, You want to know the reason why? Because more than water I had love, Weather decieved me but love didn't, Time made me old, but love freshens me to youth.

Conjuring up all that I have earned and now I own, I close my eyes to welcome what is coming and unknown. There will come a man who will cut me in pieces, I'm ready for it, for I have seen the love which never ceases.

***

The leaves and the stems,
the branches and my trunk,
are all suffesed over the years with stories knitted with love.

***

Hiya people!!

A short story after a long time. I know it isn't a short story kinda short story but more of an autobiographical essay. Yet I hope you like it.

Love,

K.