I saw you yesterday in the sinuous branches of disparity, swaying and holding on to dear life like autumn’s last leaves.
I wanted to hold you, the way I used to, arms wrapped around your body, as if all the paper thin layers you hid from the rest of the world were destined to break.
Isn’t it funny how you were the strong one, yet needed my arms to fill all the cracks in your splintered porcelain; my arms like cotton wool, soaking up pain that never pooled out of you.
Instead it came out in occasional waves of sadness, tears filled with toxins, you choking out broken promises and words that didn’t belong together in a sentence.
How can you make sense of something that will never make sense.
I mostly see you in trees, sometimes in strong branches and sometimes in twigs. They always look as though they are following a season change that doesn’t exist; their leaves golding in July, or flowers blooming in October.
You were always running away from conformity, rebelling against seasons. Running away from pain that became too overwhelming to hide in the embrace of two arms. Maybe that’s why you ran away from me.
Neglecting pain is like leaving a baby to cry. It will eventually crescendo into a scream.
I heard you yesterday as the wind whipped through the trees, changing notes and keys as it whistled its way from calm to storm.