The children from the house on the hill were his most frequent visitors.
He missed their noisy games. When they grew up, they spent afternoons nestled in his branches with their adventure novels. They had hosted countless picnics in his shade.
Sadly, it hadn’t lasted. They moved away a few years after the grandmother died. The house was rumored to be haunted.
The only people who visited him now were lovers with no place to call their own.
He winced as he felt the blade cut into him again.
It was yet another heart and initials being carved into him.