blood instead of sap

: “I’ve never told anyone these things,” she said.
: “I know.” I nodded.
: “How?”
: “The way you said them.”
: Our bodies did the talking later and afterward, she was nestled in my arms, swinging her breath back and forth in sleep. I couldn’t do the same. I was going over the words she said — the part about her dying in the morning and the price — she had given up centuries as a tree for one day as a person. She desired feet instead of roots, blood instead of sap. At sunrise, the light took her, every cell and every kiss. And to this day, I think of her in the mornings, when my wife and kids are still asleep. I’ve never told anyone these things.

{flash fiction ~ Tommy Tung}
{photography ~ Man Ray}