To the being who cannot respond to my love,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for
the way that I am,
for I cannot control these affections.
They run under my skin,
they tie up my nerves,
I am an animal at war with myself.
You are alive, just like me.
And just like me, you were born.
Just like all of us.
But.
You cannot see me.
You cannot hear me.
You cannot respond to me in a meaningful way.
How can something move and be static?
If I sit under your shade--
If I bask in the sun between your branches--
If I prune your diseased, insect-addled leaves--
If I gently pluck your fruit--
If I eat it and let the nectar spill on my chest--
If I leave myself gleaming in front of you--
Can you ever say back, "I love you"?
Are my words forever lost on you?
Is it just from that virtue of having no lips, no eyes, no ears?
If you could be animated for just a moment,
if for a second you had the chance
to speak
to see
to hear--
what would you say?
I wonder if you would be disgusted.
If you watched my brethren raze the forests,
burn the excess, then execute what remained.
I wonder if you would call me a coward,
because I only chained myself to you.
Or maybe you would hate me,
hate me for seeking comfort in you,
rather than someone who looks like me.
(Then I would try to tell you that I can't,
I'm just not able to, but it would be over by then.)
There is a secret part of me,
(perhaps not that secret at all)
that wishes you could say you care.
That you felt my touch linger on your bark,
you remember how I remained--
bountiful spring,
resplendent summer,
hardening autumn,
sleeping winter.
I wish you could say something back to me.
As I lay in the apse of your roots one night,
I fell asleep and I had a dream.
I dreamed that I was a tree and you were a man.
And I could see you and hear you.
And you were the most beautiful creature I'd ever witnessed.
You walked up to me and said,
"I will not leave you this time."
I remember my branches growing around you,
sheltering you from the cold, harsh world.
So, sweet tree, I will not leave you this time.
I hope one day when I'm gone,
I will return as a bleeding heart
and grow in the same place I was before.