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.
if even the trees can put on a mask... then nothing is as it seems.