Seneca and we were willows

[and we were willows]

Seneca

willow leaves reach out, bestowing damp sunset kisses across your forehead.

i rest in the crook of your arm, listening to your quiet heartbeat steady like the branches we climbed back when the world seemed much too large.

chipped nail polish fingers grasping wood as we climbed until it was just us, and the sky. deep belly laughs, we perched, like birds, letting the sunrise caress our cheeks.

it was there, when you whispered into the wind your words misty and unsteady but never unsure, you declared that you were in love with

they listened as we wept, rainfall light, as petrichor swirled across our tongues. they sat with us until the sun finally arose.

it is now that our hearts and willow leaves live in concinnity as our bark wrinkles and we age like rings.

it is now that we lay here in this world that is much too small, waiting patiently for the trees to take us home.

me and the trees.

for they had held us together when we could not, gave us something to grasp when the sun no longer bid good morning and storms rooted in the gaps between our ribs.