“I wonder if the tree knows it’s under attack.”He says. The struggle illuminating it’s beauty in the
“I wonder if the tree knows it’s under attack.” He says. The struggle illuminating it’s beauty in the face of the others; completely unaware of what’s taking place. Calm and quiet. It almost looks peaceful. As though it enjoys being taken. It enjoys the torture just as i do. The vine, although natural, looks dangerous, yet confident in it’s own way.Like a snake, it winds itself around the tree, slowly smothering it. Claiming it; Consuming it to the entirety that it has to fight trying not to consume itself. But like the mouse in the cage, the tree never had a chance. Now, the tree no longer breathes without feeling the presence of the vine every time it inhales. They both take a break from battle in the winter. Wrapped together silently, ignoring nature’s habits. Some survive, others proudly lay down in defeat and accept the inevitable. Beauty is not in the death; it’s in the struggle. The reigning minutes where you shine right before life is no longer inside you. The moment right before death is where i’d like you to keep me. Wanting, hanging on, desperate to feel something powerful before i never have the chance to feel again. Pain lasts for a period of time and then it passes. When the journey is over, the vine will unwrap itself from the tree, but the markings from the vine remain. It may learn to grow without it or it will sink to it’s knees in defeat. But ultimately, the tree decides whether to learn to grow without it. The tree will eventually learn to fill that void the vine once possessed, and the emptiness of late December’s wind won’t feast on the insides of those indents as much.She takes a deep breath, his shadow slowly winding, tightening himself around her and she says, “i bet it never saw it coming.“Copyright © patientyounglady -- source link
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