Reworked an old piece of writing, I like this version much better
We find ourselves a love within the green hues of our mother, Nature. She adds shades of lilac and turquoise generously throughout her masterpiece.
We attempt a correlation between Her and humanity, the trees are her people. But there is a disconnect when it comes to whether their roots truly stem from where they were born, or can they move about with them, wherever they go? Is it possible to fully uproot and separate yourself from all sense of familiarity?
Perhaps our roots are destined to remain underground forever. The only escape is to extend our branches. Ever upward. Leave a mark, whether it be in the form of a fingerprint, a statement.
You can run forever, but that connection will never falter.
There are some memories that time cannot let you forget.
In Her endless summer, these branches come alive. Even after a person has gone, their branches remain before Her steady erosion breaks them down. Sweet nothings. The passage of time will ultimately erase these pieces of art.
But sometimes, on summer nights like these, if you look hard enough, you can still see the branches of a thousand lives before yours, interwined with everything.
We attempt a correlation between Her and humanity, the trees are her people. But there is a disconnect when it comes to whether their roots truly stem from where they were born, or can they move about with them, wherever they go? Is it possible to fully uproot and separate yourself from all sense of familiarity?
Perhaps our roots are destined to remain underground forever. The only escape is to extend our branches. Ever upward. Leave a mark, whether it be in the form of a fingerprint, a statement.
You can run forever, but that connection will never falter.
There are some memories that time cannot let you forget.
In Her endless summer, these branches come alive. Even after a person has gone, their branches remain before Her steady erosion breaks them down. Sweet nothings. The passage of time will ultimately erase these pieces of art.
But sometimes, on summer nights like these, if you look hard enough, you can still see the branches of a thousand lives before yours, interwined with everything.
