Above the ground, you and I are trees.

Above the ground, you and I are trees.
I am on the western side of the hill, you on the eastern.
My branches over look the coasts of polluted lakes and vast greenery.
Yours hunch over cities explored and walked through, falling over streets and rivers.

I feel far from you, my branches don't reach to your limbs, and on a few of my extremities sit burdens and worries about the change of weather.
I don't stretch as tall as you into the sky, and I'm okay with that.
But I want to see the stars with you

Although above the ground we are distant, and undoubtedly lonely, both of our roots travel endlessly within the soil.
Our heads go in circles with branches in the air and although it's deep, and feels like it's hard to reach,
hard to feel,
hard to see,
we're connected.

My roots intertwine with yours,
they meet and flirt with the concept of diffidence and talk words that have to do with love and things that made our leaves grow faster with the thought.

In the middle of my idle trunk half of me is above the surface, missing you and longing to watch your limbs dance with the wind.
The other half of me is beneath,
underground,
buried below the loneliness of what I feel when the moon makes it's appearance.
And while underneath it all,
I feel you,
I hear your roots stretching to meet mine,
and I can feel you.



I love you.