her//mountains

Just stop. And look. He says. Look at what you've made of me. We were strangers. And it can only remain that way. My roots severed, stranded. Your company endows me, but I fear it; fleeting. Enslaved by fruitless labor. This is the weather you made. A particularly warm day, brushed off with cold winds. I can only wish for what never was or ever will be. To hear my dissatisfactions. Perhaps this is it. This is what I’m meant to be... alone.