I walk behind you a step or two
and I gather the broken pieces of your heart
as you drop them along the way.
I shall make something beautifulof them,
I tell myself.
I shall add them to my own and,
together, what had been two fragile lives
will be made into one beautiful mosaic.
But the pieces you drop,
one by one,
start falling to the ground in rapid succession.
I pick them up
but drop them again,
and with them,
the pieces of my own heart
that I hold in my other hand.
There is just too much
for my two little hands to hold.
Soon I carry all that is yours,
but not enough to repair what is broken,
and that which was mine is scattered about
in a trail behind me.
I wish to turn back,
to return to that path,
to retrieve what I have lost,
but you keep moving on and so must I.
There is only you,
who will not take your broken heart from my hands,
and only me who is left empty
and searching for that which has been
lost along the way.