Why must you go?

Can we not sit in the shade and talk like

we used to?

 

Do you not want to watch the violets bloom underneath

the tree we had claimed as ours?

The very same tree where we had admitted our love

and planned for the future. The very same tree

that bears the marks and carvings of our

Devotions.

 

Are you not going to miss the rainy days where we lay

among a nest of quilts and pillows and

watched as the drops of rain raced to the ground?

Or the times you held me when the thunder

was furious and the lightning blinded.

 

But now as the days pass, the Willow branches sway solemnly

over dismal violets and the rain no longer races with

as much passion as before. Even the thunder has softened in

pity.

 

Only the lightning lights my way now.