Per tutto il tempo che ho impiegato a ritrovarmi, per tutto il tempo che mi è servito a rialzarmi e per tutto il tempo che ho perso a cercarmi, merito il meglio. Per la costanza che ho avuto nel non mollare, per la costanza che ho messo nel non cedere e per la costanza che ho sentito nel tenere fede ai miei pensieri e valori, merito il meglio. Per tutte le volte che ho distrutto ciò che mi faceva male da sola, merito il meglio.
Sono qui a girare il mio prossimo video!! A dopo! Stay tuned 😄😎👊🏻👊🏻🌞🌞 🏹❤️
Inspired by the African proverb quoted in the introduction. Written about a tree but not really 🍃 -
“The axe forgets, but the tree remembers." -
The bark of a tree, rough to the touch, is a layer of protection against the outside world and all the mindless harm it loves to cause. Run your hand gently against its surface and you will feel the coarse wood scratching against your palm. No pain, just the sensation of a splintered soul. Could you blame it? Everything leaves it with a need to tuck its heart away and cover it with a form of defense.
You only like the tree for your convenience. For the life it brings you, or for the pleasure it causes your eyes when it meets the standards of what you claim to be beauty. Do not look at the tree as ugly, for its trunk is a mirage of the pain it carries. Instead take a look at the axe. The axe that swings in the air, sharply cutting through the sky, and promptly smacking against the tree. Then the senseless pride that follows it. Because hurting without motive is beautiful.
Cutting into the tree is good, approved by the outside world. More acclaimed when it results in the chopping of the tree. Even better when it leads to its roots being pulled out. Just leaving the tree in fragments, ripped atop the soil. A round of applause is deserved. Throw. Some. Roses. Since you really like those. For the encore.
The killing of a tree is not beautiful. The axe will go ahead and slice as much as it pleases, leaving behind a miserable membrant of the once splendid tree. And it forgets. It forgets its path of destruction. It has its fun, cutting down what it does not like. And it leaves as if nothing ever happened. Everything is okay though it’s really not.
It’s not okay because the tree remembers. And the tree cries upon the soil watering itself for the ultimate vengeance. Its roots will cement themselves yet again, and its trunk will become stronger than ever before. The blooms on its head will rival the ones in your garden rows. Once the rest of the world is suffering, the tree will remain. Alone but well deserved.