It does not matter, the story of what happened at the base of that tree. It has nothing to do with philosophy or with my poisoned breakfast, so I will leave it out. Like kissing, it is perhaps too powerful for words, even one “O” or a person’s name. It can be very powerful to write the name of a person you have kissed or even just someone you wish you had kissed, on a scrap of paper where no one can see, or carved into the trunk of a tree where everyone can. It is even powerful just to write it down in your mind when you are alone, but it still does not matter, I thought to myself, because now
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