I think the best part of it was the almost.
We almost fell for each other.
We almost had everything together.
We almost were,
But we never were.
We were always just an almost.

Your heart was set on mine,
Or so you'd always claim.
Every time you messed up,
It was me who took the blame.
I allowed this to go on,
For a great amount of time.
Until one day I had enough,
I took back what was mine.
This action did not please you,
So you tried again, once more.
You said this time was "different,"
Struck the problem at its very core.
You'd made a little game,
Of catch and then release.
The tragedy of it all:
I didn't want the game to cease.

There's a hole in my wall,
It's been there a while.
You ask why it's there,
And I nervously smile.
You offer to fix it,
I politely decline.
It doesn't need fixing,
It's perfectly fine.
I like it there,
But you still insist.
If that hole weren't there,
I wouldn't exist.
You won't give in,
You are rudely persistent.
You assure me that,
It'll be fixed in an instant.
Do you fix it for me,
Or is it only for you?
Now there are left,
Not one hole, but two.

In my garden,
I've planted a seed.
It took a while,
But eventually sprouted a tree.
I would sit underneath,
In the relief of shade.
It was the hottest summer,
The sun had ever made.
I pondered of things,
Untold and unseen.
The tree would support,
My back as I lean.
As the winter dawned,
Something happened.
I stopped visiting the tree,
And it gradually blackened.
The tree grew old,
I did too.
It was there many years,
But I visited it so few.
That very tree,
That had kept me cool.
Held on to its life,
Although life is cruel.
It held on for me,
And that I can't repay.
So I'll set it free,
I'll walk away.
The tree has many more years,
Than I.
I'll hold it back,
If there I lie.
Someone will come,
To take my place.
But until then,
That tree will hold an empty space.

I hear the wind blow,
As it rustles the tree.
Carrying noises,
And various debris.
I open the shutters,
To embrace the wind,
But my thoughts go dark,
And my intellect thinned.
My ears hear whispers,
Intense and unkind.
All from the wind,
Through my open blind.