Others have forgotten, but I’ll always remember the good times – the tire swing, the treehouse.
I rub my hand over initials carved in its bark. They mark the spot of our first kiss, and the wedding that followed years later.
It pains me to remember, but my axe shows indifference.
Pontius Paiva got 99 problems, but a birch ain’t one. You can root through his collection of short stories and other written works at pontiuspaiva.com.