'You go, I go.' was written there,
scratched into the tree
that had been hit by lightning
yet still standing

in Orwell Wood.
I tried to picture the woman
or man who wrote it
one Summer or Winter or Autumn or Spring

when the tree was still well
and standing strong.
I imagined they were star-crossed,
hiding in the wood for the fleeting meetings

their parents banned.
He had probably promised forever
and she'd been smart enough to see through it,
I hoped as I perched on the log.

They made a pact when she told him
she was terribly depressed, in that old high school
way before emotional was shortened to 'EMO'
and covered a wide range, if not the whole range of high school

He brought down a backgammon board,
taught her to play, now I was getting inventive.
I should have brought my notebook to the woodland,
'You go, I go.'
now please leave my inspiration space.

Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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