Tree's feelings

They say we don’t have feelings. But they don’t even wanna grasp the idea of us enduring pain and experiencing happiness. Outer body happiness, estranged happiness. Their happiness. We meet each other every day, but most days humans don’t even aknowledge us. And on even worse days they do and they ruin us. Give us scars, cutting us for wood, for a material to make their beds, or worse to make something not useful. But part of us remains, a remnant of us, a physical memory that we existed. But we don’t die this way. We endure decades until we blossom again. Until we bring apples for example to our world. But as they have oftentimes scars, we too wear ours. Take a photo. Today. Tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. In a decade. Many things change. Every single second someone out there dies and they bury them in our nature. Some people in their will want to be buried under flowers, in a way that they can keep giving happiness to the ones who miss them. Someone out there this second is being born. Just like next to me, or in another forest another sibling of mine is being nestled firmly into the ground, watered and taken care of, simply like a newborn child. We are different but also all the same. A human and a tree! A hypocrite, atrocious words some will say. How dare I?! How could I possibly say I am not made of steel, that I am breathing and even worse I give people the oxygen they need. But I could be a stone and people would step on me, they treat me as such. Soulless creature, with no feelings to consume it. An it! No privileges. No wants. No needs. But without water we also start to wither away. We lose our sparkle. Our green colour. We become tones of gray and dirty brown, breakable, dry, sad to look at. I’ve seen the history of humans and nature. I’ve seen people come and go. I’ve seen brothers and sisters bloom and die. In a second even a thunderstorm crashes with them and they become split apart, their soul and breathing system falls apart, impossible to be restored. To be saved. It’s over in a second. Sometimes I sleep and I’m being awoken by them, the bad lumberjacks who cut my family and I stay strong to their eyes. Mocking them, tempting them to rip me from the ground. But I am so far from that. I am grieving. I experience loss. A tragedy, or more like another tragedy I must endure. Never bow down in respect, never break in tears but I would keep blooming like nothing happened to me and my existence. How do I scream my pain when I am not human? I wish for many things, somewhat most of it all I want the time to freeze. Before the agony, where I don’t bloom alone. When the wind blows gently at my leaves, my brown sticks getting lulled gently to sleep. The wind sings around us all, sending our voices from one place to the next, circling in the whole forest. Our home. I return to this memory now, refusing to turn to the present. I refuse to take more pain, we just didn’t get enough time. Her apples were people’s favourite. Satisfaction ran through their system once they bit into the yellow small globes. But it wasn’t enough. Now the wind sang another song, from me to the far away trees. Her place stood empty, pulled from the ground. Forever lost a meaning. So sudden you cannot grasp it. Like the crisp soil that just stains human’s hands but they cannot posses it. It passes through their fingers. Forever becomes a lie. Impossibility to remain something worth it. I wish I was pulled from the ground but that would be egoistical. Maybe she didn’t feel pain. Maybe she was in slumber, dreaming of birds sitting on our branches. Feathers left between our leaves. A soft memory. Now everything is just a memory I cannot relive. I cannot remember it clear enough. Maybe I hallucinate even, what is real anymore? Maybe she fulfilled her destiny. Maybe she was happy. That’s what mattered. That is what made it easier to take it in.

The end of an existence.

Hers or mine? Both?

Suddenly footsteps caressed the fallen leaves. I wasn’t alone.

,,Look! Our tree is gone?!”

I heard her before they came into my view. I didn’t want humans near me, near her space, ruining her memory. But soon enough I registered the words.

,, Our first kiss will remain here”- her lover touched the side of her head and her chest, where a heart was beating.

,,But it was our spot! Our tree! "

“Come with me.”

I wondered what he will do. She seemed so saddened by the loss. My loss. She felt pain from my lover’s death.

In steady steps both of them stood right before me.

“Say hello to this one! It will be continuation of our love story. "

" Does our story end here and now?”

" Only you decide that. Me and you. Not the ones who took away a part of a great memory. Do you feel like it ended? Do your feelings end here and now? Or it’s a bad sign that does not mean that, but the opposite. We will make new memories. We will come closer and maybe…oh yeah, we can grow our own tree. Watch it sprout from small seeds and water it, take care of it until it’s breakable under the sun until it grows stronger and stronger through rain and storms, wind and thunders. It will be ours to keep safe and love it, just like you love me and like I love you. It will be us three. And it will stay after us. Doesn’t that sound lovely, baby?”

His words healed something deep inside me. Something I thought was dead. They were different. They will keep her memory like I will too. My tree. Our tree. Till next time, my love.