A Confession

Do You ask because it's polite?
Or because You know it's right?
Why must it always be a fight?

Indulge in passive agression,
Here is my confession:

Although it was the beginning,
We didn’t see then, what had been planted there.
Merely a seed to be sown, that with time would reveal
The budding effects of nurturing and care.

In the worst of the storm,
The roots held strong, fighting demons that mocked it in size.
Our sapling reached out, with one limb at a time,
Extending the scope of our eyes.

As seasons swirled around it,
A year’s end slowly slithered by.
It grew sturdier and wiser with time,
Yet was burdened by the weight of a past and a destiny it couldn’t deny.

With the eloquent grace of a dancer,
It extended its arms long and lean,
Sprouting delicate fingers that brushed the earth,
And dainty leaves that shimmered green.

And it beckoned me with beauty,
I sought solace beneath the leaves.
I crawled inside its billowing arms,
I let it hug me, as I was deceived.

I curled up in our nook,
The winds began to moan.
And I cried with our weeping willow,
Because we knew we were alone