You told me you loved me
on a spring evening
when the sun had already set
and the flowers outside were fast asleep.
Their petals bloomed beautifully,
displayed like a rainbow cast after a rainy day,
even though there was no light to be shed.
Scarlets, emeralds, indigos,
all frozen in time.
But then our ship capsized,
flipped from the suddenness
of the uneven weight
Of all the weight
Our previously potted garden,
the one too lovely for words,
had drowned along with everything else.
I didn’t think I could feel so much regret
over something that I didn’t say,
something that I didn’t do,
something that truly never was.
But you left me standing there
with an open heart
and empty hands,
stranded in a treacherous storm,
wild sobs and crying thunder
over the new summer sky.
How is it possible
that I felt more alone with you
than I did when I was on my own.
Like a single firefly
left to brighten the entire sky
on the Fourth of July
after the last few fireworks
have faded away,
and nothing but silence remains.
However, the isolated autumn stretched on,
the quiet winter flurried away,
and, once again, the spring settled in,
smelling like fresh soil and new beginnings.
So here I am
with a fresh spotlight of sun on my face,
in a newborn garden of my own,
as I continue to replant the seeds of a new flower.