One of the things me and my boyfreind did when he was still alive was we'd planted this tree. And It was Oak, or somthing, I don't quite remember. But we used to go up to this tree, and sit under it and talk, or play around. He never tried to get me to kiss him or anything, and we were the best freinds ever. Well, he used to have these keys he collected, and he always hung them in the Oak. well, It was a Summer day when we had begun doing this, and it was the same Summer when He died. Well, when we always used to sit there, on that hill, under that tree, we could hear the keys tinking in the slightest breeze. And it was one of my most favorite sounds ever. Well, About a year after his death, I was wondereing around in the forest, and got lost. Eventually I got so tired and cold, I sat down and rested. Upon doing so, I heard a tinkling noise, I looked up and saw a single key was on this branch of an old, dead Oak. It was his. Even longer after this, people were doing reconstruction up by the hill where I had realized the tree still stood. Well, now I went over there in time to see a bull dozer crashing over our tree, and I ran up in the way, and he stopped. The man got out and yelled at me, but I ripped open the tree trunk upon an odd feeling that I needed to, and I found over six hundred keys. I have long dumped them into the lake, but every once in a while, you can hear the tinkling of keys swaying in the breeze on warm, Summer nights near my house.
From The Articles Of Him; Our Tree.
May 27, 2010