I miss her

I have written this story during an English class at St Sidwell’s Centre. It was a writing exercise. We have chosen a picture and looking at it, we tried to write a story.


She has been gone for four days ago.

I miss her hands when she brushed my bark. When she talked to me and I could understand her thoughts and her worries. Alone, in this dull road, surrounded by gloomy buildings, I found in her a light. Nobody stopped here to look at me except her.

Every morning, in the Winter and in the Summer, in the Spring and in the Autumn, she came over, looking at me, smiling and easing my loneliness.

I looked forward to seeing her.

In the cold days I tried to warm her up with the flow of my sap, the warmth of my wood.

She’s gone somewhere, away from me, leaving me alone to cope with my loneliness.

My roots are here, below this layer of concrete, and I am unable to flee. If I could, I would wander until I find her. My leaves are falling down and I am nearly naked. The winter will come soon and I have to face it without her.

Francesco Pistillo

December 2014


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