it’s not just about the fruit
You want the whole the tree…
I wanted to see you fruiting,
but you were ready for harvesting
You wanted to sit on my roots
and lay down on my branches
I couldn’t see. Now it’s clear.
I couldn’t accept, I couldn’t believe.
How could I be so naive?
It’s harder to let it go than an addiction,
but I prefer to let it go instead of living this fiction.
I write poems because it easies the pain.
It’s a fraction of reality that won’t make me insane.
