And as more people came into my life desperately in need of something crucial something so absolutely necessary that without it they would wither away and not quite die, as these people on the verge of becoming another crumpled brown faded leaf for other people to step on and pass by, the sounds of their crinkles as they landed on the dry hard ground called to me changed me. What can I be now other than who I am? a giver of what they need a shoulder to lean on an ear to whisper in a chest to cry on a lender of hugs, but never anticlimatic kisses a hand to hold onto a piece of clay for others to rearrange now and then so that their lives may be that little bit better? I can catch these few castaways from the trees and turn them into new sprouts, if they want me to, if they call out to me, and although I must empty myself to become a vessel for them to pour out their broken hearts and minds a vessel to bring them new hopes and order I am always filled by the sight of them smiling and standing on their own when they emerge and become their own tree. And that's when I truly know who I am. I'm the gardener of this amazing field of trees, and that's what keeps me going.
Reason for writing:
read the last line.
Sometimes I wonder how I keep going on when I let so many friends lean on me, and yet I don't lean on anybody else...
And other times I realize why.
Birth sign: Capricorn
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