Branches like bone: stripped cold, bare and alone, sailed in the moonlit silence.
Drawn by their sorrow, and the leash of memories choking my neck, emptying the last bits of air from my sentiments-lit balloons, I raised my face towards the moon, and drank in the sight which people no longer understand.
The tide of images ebbed, wanting nothing more from me, and my stripped bare soul.
For the briefest instant, I didn’t feel alone. We were together. We were the same. The branches, and I.