Tendrils sway their inorganic tips in beckoning to me.
I receive their deafening chorus and I return to my window side with my ears covered.
They transform into one another with an uneasy satisfaction.
Tendrils have veins on the outside of their leaves, and the wave to me that signals that first step of my voyage through my window.
I could never avoid such beginnings.
Please, when are you coming back?
They wrap themselves near my limbs.
Tendrils have the warmth of a mother when they smile.
I am frightened and paralyzed.
Please, when are you coming back?