Work Text:
A tree always falls somewhere.
One falls, far away. You don't notice. You’re too busy sitting under your own tree, childhood swing still tied to a branch.
Another falls. It's closer now, you'd walked past it a couple of times, but it's not a tree you knew well.
Many more fall, some close to where you live, but most fall far away, trees you'd never seen.
Seeing them fall hurts. They'd spent years growing, only for them to fall.
You sit down, back against your tree, taking in the soft sun, the same way you'd done many times before. You can't remember a time you didn't.
Storms came and went, your tree remaining, tall and stable. You move away.
Time passes, and you see more and more trees, but you never forget the one that was yours. No matter how far away, it gives you comfort.
One day you come back, and when you go to see your tree, all that's left of it is frail, rotten wood.
It doesn’t fall.
It's weak, a far cry from the one you spent your childhood climbing and swinging from.
But it's still there. You tell yourself that's all that matters, it's still standing. It doesn't matter that it's different. It doesn't matter that you barely know it anymore.
You still visit it, but only ever in passing. Gone are the days of resting against it, book in hand.
The visits grow less frequent. You don't know why, but the tree isn't the comfort it once was.
You never completely stop though. You can't bring youself to, desperate to feel like you did when you were younger again.
It falls. You always knew it would. It's not different than every other tree. That doesn't make it hurt less.
It fell, frail and old and rotting.