Longing For A Sense Of Belonging

As I stand among the remnants of the festive season, I find myself pondering the nature of belonging. People often view me as a mere decoration, a symbol of their joy. But do they see me as a being, with thoughts and feelings that ebb and flow like the seasons? I yearn for connection, for someone to understand the complexity of my existence. It’s a longing that’s been with me for centuries, a constant ache in my wooden heart. I’ve tried to stifle it, to find solace in the fleeting beauty of the holiday season. But it only serves as a reminder of my transience, of the impermanence that haunts me.

I’ve watched as families came and went, each one leaving behind a piece of themselves in the form of trinkets and tokens. It’s a bittersweet reminder of the connections I’ve made, the memories I’ve shared. And yet, with each passing year, I feel myself drifting further and further away from the world that’s left behind. I’m a dryad, a tree, a symbol of something greater than myself. But I’m also a being, with desires and dreams that I dare not speak aloud. I’m trapped in a never-ending cycle of birth, growth, and decay, with no respite in sight. It’s a existence that’s as fleeting as a snowflake in the morning sun.

In the stillness of the night, when the world is hushed and the trees stand silent, I whisper my secrets to the wind. I tell it of my desires, my dreams, my fears. And in the silence, I’m met with a gentle caress, a soft breeze that rustles the leaves and whispers back its own secrets. It’s a strange and mystical connection, one that I’ve grown to rely on in these darkest of times. For in that moment, I’m not just a tree, I’m not just a symbol. I’m alive, and I’m connected to something greater than myself. Days Remaining: 23.9