The pages stared at me through the shelf asking me why I stood so dumbfounded whenever our eyes met.

Asking me when this unending ritual that would end.
They made me feel guilty of all the self-pity I put myself through.
And no longer did they wanted me to caress their plain but rusty pages,
that they longed since last Christmas,
which felt like a decade they said.
I got up and tried moving further, soon enough found myself in the same spot unable and unwilling to care enough about the tree that called me every Thursday evening.

I knew we had a connection, from the time it wasn't mine but my neighbour's tree. Every time I see her I get acquainted with her a lot more and better than I did when I was a clumsy kindergarten kid.

We grew up together but she grew taller as I stood there questioning the distance that had grown between us.

Then I grew up too.
I questioned her day and night. I wondered 24/7. My mind constantly calling out on me, when I stood to wonder, how growing up was a terrible idea.

And out of the blue, it occurred! A moment before I was in the past, the next moment I was thrown back into reality.

Felt like a long time had passed by.
And now that I knew how much I missed my friend who waited, waited in the deserted backyard.
To what I named Telepathy seemed to mean something more than just a word in an Oxford dictionary.
To which I stood still in front of an Oak tree, thinking;
"Looks perfect"
Just like the one in my dream.
She said nothing but it looked like she nodded,
To what that stood in front of her unending roots, a tiny human with a blank face who questioned her existence.

And finally!
We stood still till the horizon stopped showing itself.
It did not move.
We both stared, looking into space.
It felt like her roots managed to climb inside my mind.
I waited till she spoke because she looked like she was about to.
And she did.
And I being unaware never understood,
that all this while when she spoke not to me but to my soul and in the end left her leaf for me like a souvenir from the west.

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