Soliloquy of a Tree: Incomplete Series #One
Updated: Apr 21, 2021
Remember that half-completed story about your childhood best friend? Or the quarter-completed love letter? Or better the two-sentence poem you wrote after your first break up. They are treasured.
They have a life of their own.
They are vulnerable, like you and I.
I started a series for my incomplete works because completion is overrated.
I hope you enjoy reading them. If you ever want to complete these stories, they might revolt.
This weather is just exquisite. (breaths deeply) as if I can take it all in. Once. Twice. Million times. All in. (exhales) the birds don’t bother me anymore. I used to be upset every time a bird, any bird, would use me and leave me without a proper goodbye. My magnificent long limbs would cry for them for days, for years, but they won’t come back. (pause). I feel that the birds actually don’t know the true meaning of nesting.
Well, now I love them. The birds. They don’t live long enough to see how I grow, how I exist in this world, rising and multiplying from one to too many, from a moment to the infinity. (laughs) Not really infinity, but I just like to imagine that. (pause) I have been in existence for nearly thirty-five years. I have shared this space with so many, made friends with the squirrels, the birds, the snakes, the bugs, the wind, the untimely monsoon, the guests, even with the bureaucrats. I remember every face I see that crosses my path. I have heard innumerable whispers, broken heartbeats, joyous heartbeats, and indifferent heartbeats. I have listened to them all.
I felt warm and tender touches by melancholic and eccentric souls, and every so often, I wanted to do something for each one of them, out of love, out of respect. I wanted to offer an invitation (talking to someone from the past) “see my secure and pure brown limbs. Come to me, let me hold you close.” But none of them stayed. And I wondered, what is holding them back from embracing me? Maybe it’s my parched skin. It soaks everything in, in every weather, and leaves the outside dry and desolate.
But how remarkable it is that I can still revel in this glorious weather. I can still stand tall and appreciate the birds, the squirrels, and the ants. (pause) They complete me.