old trees live for the longest time.
has seen a frequent storm, soul destruction, constant changes.
before that occurred, it was a young and radiant thing in this world
nonetheless, it is slowly growing, it is developing as days pass by.
have met different seasons, dark & quiet loud sounds. Calm & loud therapeutic drops of water falling from the welkin.
the different seasons confer changes, confer discomforts.
no one would even entreat discomfort instances.
consequently, we supposed to, we meant to.
by dint of growth, and growth confer progress.
but then there’s this contemplation : do we really have to go through bunch of grief to build a new form of ourselves?
if that is, I can no longer endure it : it ain’t talking about the tree.
shesshy 