I have been standing here still all my life, growing deep anchors through the hard soil, peeking through the dense webbed branches obstructing my vision as I grow, awaiting the one who left me here. Though countless people crossed as the sun rose and fell, you never returned despite knowing I couldn't walk, unlike you. All I could do was wait for you, spreading out my branches, providing shelter for the tired travellers, letting the birds build their home on me as time passed. I saw different faces come and go, but not you. I lost count of the number of summers passed after you left me there, maybe my rings can tell. How long should I wait, for you, looking at those paths that changed from rough roads to the black tarred ones?
