Her Other Home
 
She was a mysterious girl. A girl without a place where she truly belonged. Whenever you saw her in a crowd, you knew she didn’t belong. Like a moth trying to fly with beautiful butterflies. A moth had its own beauty, but it didn’t fit in with the beauty of others. No doubt the girl was pretty, but there was so much sadness behind her green eyes that it affected her image. She was seen as mysterious, depressed, cautious, and scared.

That day was the day she’d break her promise. Her heart told her it was time. She raced out the door before anyone could realize what she was doing. She hopped over the fence with such grace that it made you wonder how such energy could come out of a dull girl like her. She ran swiftly, like the wind, past the old oak tree that seemed to reach into the heavens. She ran into the great forest, where light was scarce. You could hardly see where you were going, light barely peeping through the tree tops.

That didn't stop her.

She ran as fast as a gazelle, seemed to fly like a hawk, so fierce yet graceful. Her eyes seemed to be used to the dim lighting; it seemed as if she had been here before. She stopped so abruptly that the forest seemed to hold its breath. She hesitated, wondering whether she did the right thing coming here. She seemed to make up her mind and went deeper into the forest.

She looked around for a while, and then seemed to find what she had been searching for. She went to a tree with the engravings: Our Tree. The words were etched in beautiful penmanship. Under that was the word: Always. It seemed to be written by someone very young, someone barely learning penmanship.

She carefully scraped off the green moss, and moved her finger over the letters gently, as if one wrong stroke of her finger could cost her life. She then sat against the tree, right under the engraving; she pulled her knees to her chest, and sighed. For once in her dark life, she smiled. She closed her eyes, put her head back against the tree trunk, and began to silently cry. Memories flooded through her mind, memories of picnics and walks, hand in hand, and she thought of her mother's spirit possibly looking down on her. The spot was as meaningful to her as a home. It didn't matter that this was just a tree; it was more than that.

by GL reader | 2/1/2016