I waited for hours under the hot sun, finding shadows to stand on, of busy commuters, looking at your windowpane. I stood there without a jacket on the cold winter nights. Seasons moved past. I grew old. I grew a gray beard. People didn't see me. Neither did you. I stood there, for the rest of my life.
Then you came down one day. The very next day. There was no more of the noises I could hear. Or the smells. I grew roots and branches. I grew plumage. But only mine was for food. I was being eaten. I was being sat on. But you didn't see me. I was just a tree.
- Sounds like your wife takes a long time to get ready.