dear pinetree,
in your absence, i went on a pilgrimage. i voyaged through the five boroughs to mourn a romanticized version of us - your words, not mine.
the words actually escape me. i said some things, you said some things. it’s whatever. but i can't ignore the awkward ghost, shyly spying from behind a tree on the other side of the street. i know you look at my stories. speak up.
no wonder you remain in the shadows. we lived like vampires. we barely saw sunlight together. was it shame or avoidance? i'll never know.
in my travels, i found all those rare moments we were lucky enough to spent together had flowered against all odds. metal, grass, concrete, glass, leather, soil, wood, water: nothing could block the roots from their divine path.
i smiled at the flowers. they smiled back. how lovely, don’t you think?
our ephemeral utopia sprouts anew, now fragmented. new grass grows from the apocalypse. innocence and purity, now rejuvenated, now abundant.
peace be with me. peace be with you.