First, I was a poplar tree in a bloom. I was spreading sweet and alluring smell of last days of April.
Then, I became a pine, and hunger of reaching up to sun got provoked. I was shedding needles and casting shadow over everything under me.
If I lived in Iceland, I’d live close to volcano. I’d wake up every morning and roll up curtains (or maybe I wouldn’t have curtains at all).
I’d check how my volcano was doing and how he felt.
On days when my volcano was anxious or sad, I’d hike up to his core and throw pebbles in his mouth. And on happy days, I’d leave him alone to enjoy solitude.
When I was a piece of ship deck abandoned in sea, barnacles got too attached to me. I thought that we should break up and drifted to beach. Boys picked me, scrapped barnacles off me, cut in pieces, and threw in fire.
I wish I stayed in.