I dreamed I was a tree in a city of people who forgot how to look up

I stood at the edge of a sidewalk, roots tangled in cracked concrete, and every time someone passed beneath me, they didn’t see my branches—just the space between them. I felt the weight of their shoulders, the way they carried silence like backpacks. One child paused, tilted her head, and said, 'Why’s that leaf moving?' Then she laughed, not at me, but at the sky. I woke with a shiver, still tasting bark on my tongue. The worst part? I missed the wind.