Creative Writing, Fiction

The Weeping Willow

Do you remember when we used to sit beneath the willow? The big one with the branches drooping into the water? It seemed almost like it had dipped its fingers into the slow, cool current just to get some relief from the summer heat.

We used to sit beneath the bough of that tree and simply watch the river as it calmly carried on, and on, and on. It never ended.

But now…

I remember when we first met, we’d spend our days pretending we were pirates, swinging sticks around like they were swords, and having wild adventures. We never had a ship, but we imagined the tree was our secret fort. Nobody could find us. Nobody could touch us. It was our world, and we could do as we pleased. We could be anything we wanted to be.

We grew up eventually, but we never forgot. We always came back.

There were days we would simply lie on the grass and look up at the leaves as they shone their golden yellow and green. The branches swayed in the wind, and every now and then, the sun would peek down through and warm our cheeks. You’d smile. You always smiled…
We would close our eyes and listen to the wind rustle through the branches, the gentle trickle of water, and the chirping of crickets in the evening. The sky would slowly slip into deep shades of orange, pink, and purple. We’d share stories and we’d laugh as the stars started to dot the sky, one by one. I can still smell the night air and hear your soft, comforting voice.

But that was long ago…

Now I sit here, beneath the tree, and you’re not with me. The branches are brittle, and the brown leaves, once so colourful, lay strewn about the ground. I can see every moment we spent here in my mind, but when I open my eyes, those memories become like ghosts – nothing more than a whisper. The air is cold. The sun is hidden in the haze and clouds. And I am alone. This time, you’re not coming back.

Those days are gone…

…and never again will we find each other…

…beneath the weeping willow where we once sat.

Image Credit: Lily7854

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