Only takes a small axe
to chop down a tree.
Which one are you
is the other me?
Could be harder to untangle
roots deep weave
from what we have
to who we could be.
Shall we close the book now
go our separate ways
and wonder how the story
could've played?
Or do we carry on growing
creating page after page
trying to forget the trees  
from which they were made?