or am I trippin?
You ask me to stick around as if my spine were made of Red Wood. That I can take the thought of you, the sight of you- without breaking into splinters, sawdust; anything, something so much less than this mighty tree of a forest that you’ve come to assume me as. I break down inside and you want me to stay, so I try. I try because not trying is an effort in itself and I do not have that capability. At best I am a lemon tree, sour at the roots.
—Don't Worry Baby
don’t worry, baby, everything will be all right.