hanging over .
the tree, tall and old, leans over her, puzzled. he’s been here for almost a century now, soaking up the sun and swaying against the wind. his leaves have grown so thick over time that he can shelter people from the rain, but why they would want to be sheltered he doesn’t understand. the rain is only beautiful and wondrous to him…
but it’s a sunny day today, and the girl sitting beneath him isn’t hiding from anything. he recognises her; she’s the girl that used to sit there, talking and laughing, never alone. but today she’s just thinking, silently stirring through the thoughts in her mind, with a slightly pained expression on her face. he realises that she’s remembering. he has seen it all before, thousands upon thousands have sat at his roots, unaware of his listening as they poured out the contents of their minds. he has learnt much from the humans that share their thoughts on the little bench beneath him, but he still fails to understand.
human nature, he thinks, is extremely puzzling. they all seem to understand so much, yet so little. he has watched countless people wait on that bench for a particular someone, knowing they won’t show up, but staying anyway. and when the truth they already know is vindicated, their crestfallen faces show no trace of victory, no sign of triumph. only sadness. no one understands sadness like a human being. anger and frustration and annoyance and pain, yes. but not their hopeful sadness.
she moves from her sitting position, and curls up on the bench, unable to forget. she’s not waiting for anyone, he realises. she’s just alone.