Ah, the fallacy in talk of tree limbs and fragments of the broken-apart.
Those scars opened a rare window below the cloud tops and into her room, where a new dress of fallen leaves hung in her wardrobe, fleshing out her understanding of how that blemish lingered long enough for her own intentions, hidden behind the frown, to surface.
The myth in her eyes wishing they could say, "Might we share this fall together?"