The sun sets on your silhouette. I can’t believe that it’s you.
I saw the birds lift your spirit to the sky, and I thought that was it.
I thought you had departed.
But here you are among the trees, shrouded by their skeletal hands.
It’s hard to comprehend.
I wonder if you can hear these words. Can what remains of you forgive me?
If I ignite the trees tonight, can you go to the light and leave? Because I’m incapable of so much these days.
I’m incapable of finding a way to live.
I call this place home, because my heart is buried in its depths.
The roots of these trees wrap it tighter and tighter, but it won’t collapse.
It won’t quit.
It’s like a stone that drags me deeper and deeper, but there is no bottom.
What I couldn’t say to you then, I’ll say to you now.
The reason he left was because he loved someone else. I promised my silence.
I didn’t know there were demons whispering in your ear.
Maybe that knowledge wouldn’t have changed your mind. Maybe your pain was too deafening.
But I can’t help but feel like I failed to speak when I should have known you were hurting.
The snow came, and you withdrew into your room.
A door can be so foreboding if you don’t know what you’ll find on the other side.
When your seclusion ended and you flew to the river, I didn’t notice until morning.
The water washed away your dreams, but the winter preserved your body.
Now you are here, to glow and behold.
You stand so still, and you’re not speaking.
Tell me what you want me to do.
I can help you find your way.
Or is it something else you need?
Is it me?
Have you come for me?