A girl sits beneath a willow tree alone, pondering the branches, embracing the cracks of the bark while the scenery around her flutters away in the bitter wind. The secluded still point she had built for her own protection peaks at the last drop of breath and roles off of her bottom lip, but does not completely vanish. Her thoughts of then and now pile up onto an abundance of polluted picture books, stacked beneath the leaves of the tree. However, they too flutter away with the wind, lost in the sea of empty desires and leave her to ponder the tree; Only the old willow tree remains. Her eyes trace the the divide between the willow and the nothingness, and she could feel the weight of nothing pressing down on the branches. The abundance of absence tugging each limb closer and closer to her feet and yet closer to the edge of nothingness. The willow is now her pondering home, the place where her free-most self is trapped under the convexity of her dearly beloved willow tree. She sits and sits and wonders the beyond of nothingness, but feels no inclination to leave her familiarity, her home. The bark forms her armor, the grain becomes her fortress, and the trunk is her best friend, whom keeps her warm. She sits and sits, and will continue to sit, forever more, forever less.
For my dearly beloved girlfriend who struggles with depression, anxiety, and paranoia.