The trees were never dying, they were just learning how to let go. When I feel like letting my life crumble in my palms, I remember how the trees hold onto leaves until they get tired. Everyone says they’re dying off. Waterlogged and rotten. Hollow in the center. Crack them open. Count their rings. Maybe they have a heartbeat too. And after all the destruction you realize that the trees were never dying, they were just learning how to let go. Just like us.