I used to live in a dark and cramped house,

the rooms were filled with fear and uncertainty.

The upstairs was filled with pain.

One night, I met a friend,

and fell in love,

and I went to each room

of the house, and danced all

night and sang with great energy and joy.

The house grew angry with me, and

warned me over and over again:

you can’t act this way here,

it is not your house,

“if you don’t stop I will choke you

with the dark and damp. Confusion and pain

are the landlords.”

One night I pretended to be asleep,

I waited until the sun came over the mountain,

and touched all of the trees in the woods, one by one,

until the reflection was almost too bright to see.

I heard confusion and fear and worry and pain

snoring in the bedrooms of the dark house,

spent from a night of misery.

“I’m leaving,” I sang at the top of my lungs, and

climbed out of the window. “Thank you!”

And left.

Behind me, the house shrieked in rage and

frustration. But the sun touched me also,

and my friend was waiting for me,

and we touched and held ones,

we were just two more trees.