we went for a walk,
and there was this tree.
i pointed it out to you,
because it looked like something
someone painted in a
famous picture
somewhere in an
incredible museum
with it's fully leafed out branches
with green that seemed to never end;
the perfect story book tree,
from every fairytale you've ever read.
we walked towards this tree,
and when we got up to it,
i looked closer.
you innocently said
"you know,
this thing is a lot uglier
up close"
it had gnarled knots
on it's mishappen trunk,
torn and tattered wind-worn bark.
the back of this tree was gone.
once you got to the other side of it,
all you saw was the uneven angry
stub of a branch
that used to be there.
i stopped for a second,
to look at what i had thought
was so perfect, so picturesque.
there was a little part of me that
cried in that moment -
a little part of me that mourned
for that broken, gnarled half of
something beautiful.
and when i turned back around,
i held your hand a little tighter,
walked a little closer,
because even the trees can fool me.