The tree.
It’s waving at
me.
Calling
me.
Begging
me
to come out. Run away from
Here. This prison, holding me back from my
                         deepest
                                                       ­                      longing.

I hate it Here.

I need to go. I need to run away from
Here.
Run to
Him.
That tree…
I dream of the other tree.
The tree under which we promised with our
lips;
Promised that
Someday,
we will have each other, without having to
  Hide.
                        Wait.
                    ­                     ....Run.
But maybe,
if we want,
we will run anyway.

The tree keeps waving at me.
*It hasn’t given up.