I told you that you were the only girl that I'd ever kiss, but now I'm sitting here trying to hold hands with a tombstone pleading that instead of feeling grass beneath my fingertips I felt your skin.

I will be the first one to tell you that sometimes distance is an issue. If I spend all day screaming the same question hoping the graveyard will elicit some response, is it love or co-dependency?

The Earth that engulfed you lacks the ability to tell me that it's not my fault. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe if I had loved you a little differently you'd be helping me write this instead of inspiring it.

Now that you're gone the only ones that listen to me are the trees, and I will tell you something sweetheart- The weeping willow is tired of crying.