SYCAMORE

I was the Sycamore in a forest full of Redwoods. The sapling with scars, left from the shedding of my skin. I always felt small as visitors came in droves to gape at my towering sisters and brothers, using me as a ladder to get a closer view. Standing alone was all I ever knew, until one day the storms rolled in and I caught their limbs as they fell, one by one.

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