I am the Boy.

I am not the Tree, yet.

"Come Boy", she whispered, "come and play."

Isn't that all you would want for someone you love?
Especially a child.

My eyes well up when I watch my Tree give and give and give to the Boy.
Every time the Tree would have him believe it to be meaningless, but a piece of herself nevertheless. Truly, what happens when you've given your whole self away?

I want to shake that Boy bounding off with the branches. Wipe that smile off his face. "Don't you know what it took?"
"Don't you understand the sacrifice?"

That's not happiness on your lips, it's selfishness.

I am the Boy. And I am so so ashamed of it.
I can never be the Tree.
I can only try.