I have loved a person for very long
They are to me, the tree outside my window, the one that has been there and stayed there for the longest I know
Constantly the bird's chirps tell me I am imperfect, but looking at this tree I forget
Or rather, I know, but it doesn't matter to me.
This tree, they are around me, living as I am, they stand in the wind, in silence, in the rain, break down, but it never disconnects it's roots.
I'm afraid it will, though, since the typhoons have been hitting stronger since last year.
One day it'll just up and fall. Roots silently ripped out of soil, disconnected from feeling.
Maybe another tree will grow exactly where it was, I don't care, if this tree goes then I'll be gone too.
This morning I looked outside the window. The tree, it was there. Of course it was.
It doesn't seem to be close to being ripped out.
I'll be okay, waking up tomorrow morning, even though I don't exactly face things as strong as a grade 8 typhoon or black rain, I'm alive, and that means something, at least I hope so.
It's easy to rip me out, but stopping me from planting myself again, now that's the really difficult part.
