I’m sure you hurt like me, struggle like me, cry like me. You look up at the same sky for relief, or maybe religion. And you may also wonder why answers don’t break off the end of branches, why fallen leaves don’t speak.
Do you remember dancing and dandelions and dreams? I see your feet next to mine. Sinking into the earth. You are also looking up, leaning against the oak, in search of deliverance.