>Hey there. You've a whole life. Where will you put it?

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>>37451343
>Out yonder. Where the willows are. A clove will follow me. Into the willows we'll make do. Serendipity won't have meaning for us two.

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>>37451458
>A catalog you seek. There's no indexing where you head, yonder. Docile leaves will adsorb you.

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>>37451548
But in these willows, these motionless stooges, they'll flicker their leaves. A simple branch can mean everything. Trinkets of silver and pixel goods won't be as sturdy as this simple wood.

where does tthis come from?

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>>37451667
>Look, as you fade into their twirls. Nonsense, you are becoming. They're meant for stationery. Guardians, these willows won't do. Understand it'll only be the clove and you. Come out, lost one. The willows won't do.

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>>37451794
You don't see what I breathe. One willow >>37451707 is here. They're here, as real as anything else. Scraps of paper will not suit my guardians. The clove and I, strapped tightly in the binding strings, are at ease. This willow tree makes a home. Yes a home, for you as well as me.

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>>37451915
>You breathe docile fumes among docile leaves. These willows aren't the sanctuary you seek. You're losing your sense. I'm losing the sense. Sense of you. You are they, and they are you. The last thing they want to protect is your bundle of two.

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>>37452100
Submission is your tact. They've no worry. You're the corrupted one. I, just weary. Come closer, and understand the whistle the willows make. It's silence, but it's the last wholesome thing you can ever take.

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>>37452233
>Silence is the last thing I hear. Where does this reverb come from? The mutters the willows make, the obscenity! This is what soothes you? Where is your clove, what does the clove think? Oh, you're lost! Lost! Lost in the midst of it!
>The willows are rooting you in. Please, please, come closer to my gentle winds. I hope these murmurs will snap the roots. Listen to the purrs of walking life. This is what you're made for, not for spite.

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>>37452377
This is me. We the willows, know this. The body you shake, the lies you spit, they've no room here. Listen to the whistle, the whistle, the whistle. Our calling is only for the select few. Leave, or bud anew.

>>37452428
>What of the clove? What have you done with the clove? It was pure, it was loving. The bundle of two, can't be a bundle with you. The shimmers of the young heart, the body you've scavenged... This is all for nothing.
Farewell, whole life.

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>>37452560
Only the whimpers are left.