A Sense of Belonging
The greatest pain in life is not that of the physical kind. It is not loss. It is not death. But it is to be ignored. Excluded. Alone.
I’m like a tree. A dead tree, who stands alone in a field of emptiness. Sadness. My bark is flaking, falling, fading. I am fading. My leaves curl and crumble. They are brown, dead, ugly. But you, you are a beautiful tree, whose branches stretch across the sky, far and wide. Whose leaves are a bright, luminescent green in the spring, and a rich, ruby red in the autumn. Your leaves fall in the winter, but by the summer you are you again. There are no such things as seasons in my life. It is just winter. Loneliness.
I wish I was planted next to you. Though, we would make an odd couple wouldn’t we? Lost souls would wander past us, and look at you. Sit beneath you. Admire you. They wouldn’t look at me. Am i really so dull? So bland? Invisible. Why?
Why me? Why me? Why me?
You know, the birds always land on you to rest. They sit, content, all day, under the shade of your branches. Water droplets from your dewy leaves, fall on their wonderful, white, wings. You can hear them singing. Singing songs all day. It is only when dusk comes, and the sky becomes a deep blue with flickers of orange and pink, that they fly away. Together. But you know they’ll come back tomorrow. In fact, they’ll be back every day. So you don’t have to worry. Oh, how I wish to be a bird. But how I wish to be many things other than me.
I wonder. If I had leaves, would I be loved? If I was alive, would I be admired? If I was beautiful, would I belong?
No.
No, I could never belong, because I will never have, or be those things.
Am I destined to serve a lifetime sentence of loneliness? While you sit there, with all the other beautiful trees, and rustle in the sweet wind? I can’t feel it, you know. I can’t feel the wind. I can’t feel anything. I am locked in a prison of isolation. Detachment. Alienation.
I will never be
I’m like a tree. A dead tree, who stands alone in a field of emptiness. Sadness. My bark is flaking, falling, fading. I am fading. My leaves curl and crumble. They are brown, dead, ugly. But you, you are a beautiful tree, whose branches stretch across the sky, far and wide. Whose leaves are a bright, luminescent green in the spring, and a rich, ruby red in the autumn. Your leaves fall in the winter, but by the summer you are you again. There are no such things as seasons in my life. It is just winter. Loneliness.
I wish I was planted next to you. Though, we would make an odd couple wouldn’t we? Lost souls would wander past us, and look at you. Sit beneath you. Admire you. They wouldn’t look at me. Am i really so dull? So bland? Invisible. Why?
Why me? Why me? Why me?
You know, the birds always land on you to rest. They sit, content, all day, under the shade of your branches. Water droplets from your dewy leaves, fall on their wonderful, white, wings. You can hear them singing. Singing songs all day. It is only when dusk comes, and the sky becomes a deep blue with flickers of orange and pink, that they fly away. Together. But you know they’ll come back tomorrow. In fact, they’ll be back every day. So you don’t have to worry. Oh, how I wish to be a bird. But how I wish to be many things other than me.
I wonder. If I had leaves, would I be loved? If I was alive, would I be admired? If I was beautiful, would I belong?
No.
No, I could never belong, because I will never have, or be those things.
Am I destined to serve a lifetime sentence of loneliness? While you sit there, with all the other beautiful trees, and rustle in the sweet wind? I can’t feel it, you know. I can’t feel the wind. I can’t feel anything. I am locked in a prison of isolation. Detachment. Alienation.
I will never be