I fear making solid connections with a community when I so desperately do not want to be tied to any one location.
They all fade, wilt, and die all the same
And as long as I’m stuck in a space where all I want to do is run
I’ll never be able to water a garden, not when I can barely take a few houseplants with me.
Everything falls apart if you don’t stay rooted.
And my roots are weak, I blow over in the storm and move on to the next space
And when I’m planted firm in the ground I wilt
And I cry for the wind despite hating the storm.
How can I be mycorrhizal with love when I cannot stay in the soil?
Life is so meaningless, and my need to find safety, my need to keep moving has barricaded me from ever building the meaningful connections I need to thrive.
I cannot put roots down, as for if I stay put the men with axes will come and chop me to the earth with deft hands
And all that I had built would be in vain either way.
And the rings of my stump would be ground down, no less painless than never letting my sapling take root to grow into the tree to be felled