Love is not possessive

I feel my love for you as the gentle force that flows through every seasoned tree; a force of nature, subtle, uncontrived…

It is of life, as it gives life. Bold, but quiet, still.

Yielding. Unbroken by the storms that rage around it. Limbs entwined by natural grace, not forced to ungodly design; these limbs that reach for the sun by day, and stars by night.

Leaves that breath without restraint, so that roots may firmly bind with the earth; enveloped, nourished, never more than is required, always enough to allow continued hope of touching heaven above.

Cleansed and quenched in the rains that pour, and holding firm through drought.

May the branches lost provide warmth through the fire or shelters from their carcasses built. May the leaves that fall provide sanctuary for the flightless, and with the rain in turn transform to the blanket that will protect these roots through the coldest of days. So that when spring returns, if it returns, it will be able to once again be enticed back to life, where it’s leaves can brightly breath yet again, bathing in golden light.

And if, through these seasons, you never see this tree, this tree that has no choice but to continue to grow, even with its life force out-shining the wood you pass every single day, know that it still grows.

Because of you it has life, and gives life, and is joyous in the memory of the time it provided shade for you to rest your head, as you continued past on another path.

The tree doesn’t grow because you want it to, nor does it die when you walk away. As much as it often wished it could have.

I miss you every day.


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