Opposite of Infinite

- 4 -

4 - Friendship

I find that

one way to look at people

without becoming ensnarled in the complexity of human emotion

is to conceptualise them as something far more simple.

like a tree, for example,

that has roots embedded deeply inside its origins,

winding and dispersing into so many different designs and models

that it would take an age to identify the lone, 

sole, individual seed that first fabricated life.

tucked desperately beneath the surface of the soil.

and rings, inside the trunk,

that spoke tales of the years and hardships

that each ornament of nature had suffered through

like small, delicate halos that acted as a sort of

unique compass,

dictating the circumference

and, therefore, the strength of a tree's trunk.

what made it stand

and allowed it to have tall, spindling wood

that stretched out into the sky

and made love with others.

scattering seeds from its flowers.

pollinating.

clones, duplicates of the original plant

emerging,

influenced by the gene. 

but that,

that internal map,

inside the trunk,

that was only something for the individual to decide.

I had seen the world this way for a while,

each person subtly swaying 

out of the way of others in the corridor

like trees jostled around in a breeze.

avoiding the entanglement 

of branches 

that occurred when one reached out to another.

and I had seen your tree for a while,

studied it

in passing.

the way the wood was such a shade that

it reminded me of the night.

the branches that were gnarled,

folding in on themselves in a way that was 

almost crooked.

purposefully recoiling away from any form of contact

with others

apart from a select few 

that perhaps had the correct

forgery of bark

to harmonise with your own.

but it never really bothered me.

I was equally fascinated with each

mark of nature that passed me by.

how each one could be so different.

until one of your branches opened

and outstretched towards my own,

unfurling from its own manmade cage

and contorting out into my boundaries 

in such a way that was both dark and beautiful.

curling around one of my branches

and draping around the mundane object 

in such a manner that it almost resembled

two people holding hands.

shadows cast over my garden

where you were blocking out the sun.

"hey,"

was what you had said, the crust of your bark

peeling slightly to present the

captivating green held beneath,

"I'm no artist but aren't you supposed to draw something on blank paper?"

and it was at that moment that I realised.

I had been sitting in the library

for at least half an hour 

and hadn't drawn a thing.

because I had been staring at you.