Once, on an autumn day, I was walking through the park and heard a tree weeping.
I asked him what was wrong.
He replied he was sad that all the leaves left him for the ground, and he is cold and lonely.
I tried to tell him it will be okay.
The leaves that left him were wrinkled and brown.
He didn’t need them and he won’t be cold and lonely forever.
In 6 months, the spring would bring in new leaves, fresh, green leaves that will sew back his tarnished soul.
But he continued to sob, my consolations lost in his screams of how those new leaves will leave him too.
“What if it never stops?” he asks.
“What if every set of leaves that grows, leave me for the trashy ground beneath me?”
“What if this same thing continues to happen till I wither and die?”
I stared at him for a very long time trying to come up with a satisfying answer,
But all I could think of is, “What if he is right?”