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The 12th story
prose [ ]
Episode II

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by [Dark Clauds ]

2008-04-23  |     | 



Carved out of a very special type of wood… Out of a living tree...
This is who I am, and I cannot stop from thinking sometimes that someone or something had to die for me to come to life...
About the time I was a tree, I vaguely remember the rustling of my leaves in the fall, their loss and the sadness of it, the expectance of the next spring and the coldness of the long winters.
Have you ever been so cold that you couldn't remember, or even imagine the sensation of warmth? A part of the cold that was making my sap freeze down my branches is still inside of me...
In the winter it grows and grows and grows and I cannot escape the sensation that it will never go away…
Sometimes I miss the period that I call my childhood, the time I was trapped in the body of a tree, waiting to be born...It was all sensations, no processing so there was no sadness....I was cold but I didn't know it since I learned the word later...I was alone but I didn't know it...I tried it once since I came into being...To stop feeling...to pretend I was a tree in the middle of a poppy field...
I guess I looked more like a scarecrow...an ineffective one since all the birds kept landing on my shoulders and one actually tried to make a nest in my hat.
The problem is I couldn't stay still...there was always something distracting me from my attempts of not thinking and just being.
I guess it is easier to carve a puppet out of a tree that to plant a puppet into a field and grow a tree out of it...
Maybe that something essential is lost in the processing...in the carving and chopping and shaping...
My luck is that Gepetto was a puppeteer...Imagine that I could have been found by a carpenter and now you would read the journal of a three legged chair instead of that of a wooden boy…
Or if Gepetto would have been a violin constructor and I would be a useless, soulless violin, one that cannot sing…because it has no soul..
Inanimate objects are not good at imitating life but, being shaped like a little boy I can manage to pass for the real thing...at least for a while...I wonder if one can say: my days are full of emptiness because this is how I felt these last few weeks...Empty, alone and misunderstood...
Empty maybe because of that sensation of cold coming from deep down inside. Alone in the house so full of life and laughter before Gepetto's passing.
Misunderstood because there is noone to even listen to me than along understand me and my complicated feelings and emotions.
So full of thoughts and ideas and...Love. So many things to do, things I could do by myself but I somehow feel that it wouldn't feel right...I miss Gepetto and I miss the child I was when Gepetto was around. I miss a companion I never met but I know that exists.
I was carved out of a giant tree, full of life and desire of being. Some other things carved out of it might have come to life and are now looking for a friend...
So I write this page hoping that someone will not just read but also understand it.....and I will let the wind carry it towards distant woodlands...
How can someone miss something he hadn't yet felt otherwise than as a huge desire for completeness coming from deep down inside?

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