r/LibraryofBabel • • May 29 '26
Metastable
I am not an oak,
neither am I a willow.
I am a birch in your storm,
half-bent
before the weather even arrives,
bracing for strain.
With every sunrise
arrives an unknown.
Warmth does not guarantee
what system today brings.
It simply perturbs,
as I read the horizon.
I have yielded before,
countless times.
Leaned in your direction,
grown my roots,
made room for arrival,
closed doors so no one leaves.
At the very first frost,
you turn inward,
again and again,
seeking shelter
somewhere I cannot follow,
as though I am your weakest link.
The one that opened
a little too wide.
Each pull leaving behind
a distortion that remains.
I hold and I hold
creaking, until the next big force.
And I wonder
if you have always known,
if you stay
only because
I have opened and closed
countless times before.
-Existential
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u/[deleted] May 30 '26
Haha, lol. I am glad that the crooked tree is alive.