As he walked through a forest he knew so long ago, He sees a withered oak. A proud thing. A proud memory. A proud day. A proud history.
And yet all he feels now is the darkness of the shadow it casts. He sees the leaves the rain soaks. He has no song to sing. He has nothing to be. He has gone no way. He has her in his dreams.
The rain continued as his clothes get wet, smiling at the memory of their first kiss. It was like this...thing. He can’t say it another way. It was something to see. It was something to light their day. It was something meant to be.
He sighed and sat down under the far reach of the branches and watched the drops float down slowly; watching them made him happy, and yet they made him sad. They reminded him of the way the were happy, then sad. He laughed at his deep, philosophical banter. Is this not like our love, my dear?, he thought. One moment you’re soaked to the bone and trying nothing more than to run away when all you’d want more is to rush and play in the mud with eachother like children? Hm...and when the cloud are done weeping and they’re once again light with joy, what becomes of us? We simply dry our selves and go on with our full lives again.... Although...if it were meant to be...we'd simply fly and run in the field and let the sun have its way on our skin, no matter how sweltering it makes us feel.
And with that his thoughts were clear as he sat in that knoll. Under and on that withered oak. Its leaves laughing with the memories. Laughing at the two of them. Sighing at the sight of them. Praying for the child of them.
And with that rain, each drop gave life to the leaves. That grand oak. Withered under its memories Laughing at its own roots. Barely a look under mans boots. And yet, still strong enough to give its support.
She walked up to that tree they used to love. And found him lying there. His skin still so fair. But pale in comparison of what it used to be. So she played there with him. Laughing with the tears of the sky. At what they used to be. Then in each other’s arms, they die.
The sun shines, and a shadow under them begins to bloom, letting the sun do what it pleases on their skin. There will be no joy for them this time though; they ran their last the day before.