I kind of want to be a tree. I want to be accepted for staying where I am and just being. Not expected to become a different tree with more leaves and a “better” tree title.
And maybe my growth is only seasonal. Maybe, sometimes, I’m just trying to survive the winter, and no one expects me to be in perpetual spring. And as my leaves color the landscape and capture your eyes, I show you there can be beauty in withering, even in death. I show you that you can still love me even when I struggle, or fail.
