of trees and leaving

I always thought
that I was meant
to run, to float, to fly
far far away

and yet
every time I feel
poised to make
that leap

there’s comes
something or somethings,
someone or someones,
who make me feel
like staying.

I have long
lived in fear of roots,
afraid that they
might choke me,
never considering
that without roots,
trees fall, flowers wither.

It is impossible to uproot
what hasn’t had a chance
to grow– perhaps this
is why I am still here,
perhaps it is time
to be brave and say
I’ll stay.