Trees are hollow.
I noticed that when I went to the park today.
They’re just tall, winding tubes, parting and branching,
around a petrified core.
Are we hollow as well?
Our feelings and thoughts,
our touching and being touched:
Aren’t they just a thin film of life,
And the slumbering hopes and ideals underneath,
all our forgotten convictions and fears:
Aren’t they just layer upon layer of who we once were?
light and dry now
I wonder how it would be to venture down.
if it would feel like returning to somewhere familiar
welcoming still of who I’ve become
I know what you’re thinking: “Why would you even do that? It’s over, they’ve moved on. So don’t be selfish.” But the situation I ran into today wasn’t that trivial, I promise! Not to say that keeping yourself from bothering ex-lovers can’t be challenging — especially when moving on turns into a long-term project on your side. But the reason I reached out to one of mine today had nothing to do with longing or loneliness. Did you raise an eyebrow at that just now? I probably would, if I were you. …