I liked to climb trees. 1
Not those dejected ones in the park across the street; tangled in the misery of the city.
Vastly alone and neglected. 2
No - I mean the maples on 23rd and 4th street. 3
The spoils of nature. 4
Prisoners in a bare skeleton of human existence. 5
Tortured in anguish without the mirth of indifferent wind and a teasing sun. 6
7
So I climbed them. 8
I was small - they could carry me, there, far ascending above the eyes of the city.
I think the city is called Menesque - but I really didn't care. 9
The trees didn't. 10
The calm of their presence ignored everything else. 11
They were silently alone. 12
With me. 13
Like me. 14
I was like the trees, I suppose. 15
Not alone, but tortured in anguish without the indifferent familiarity of my world. 16
My home. 17
My somewhere special.18
But that was vague wishful thinking. 19
Home was a void of obscurity.
Home was somewhere far away from me. 20
And I was here; climbing a tree.
So what did you think?
Comments
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I want to say it's weird but it's not really. Weird in a way that you tell everything that needs to be told and yet it seems there's a lot more to be told. Like this is just a snippet of a much larger story. I like your style.

