Peeling copper
The tree shimmers at the end of the street. It has very few leaves, though it is the peak of summer. I stare intently at its rich, copper bark, slowly unwinding from the delicate trunk, no thicker than a ballerina’s wrist.
My pulse winds down to match the rhythmic fluttering of the loose flakes of bark in the whispering breeze.
“You seemed so alive back then. You had so much more confidence.”
I wonder what it would be like to touch the bark. The reassuring, smooth wax of a polished apple? Or cold, indifferent bone? I unwittingly take my hands out of my pockets.
He seems relieved.
“I’m just trying to say that whatever’s getting you down right now, it won’t last forever.”
I look through him, the tree shimmering behind him as if to cast a spell I’d agreed with it lifetimes ago.
You are in love with a person who no longer exists.
The copper bark flutters indifferently in the breeze. My pulse winds further down.
AK
