As quick as the summer passed,
you left with it.
Like the leaves on a tree,
as they depart to the ground
leaving an empty carcass
that was once beautiful.

I dropped a bowl of cereal
on the floor this morning.
Milk spilled everywhere,
the places I can't seem to reach,
like under the stove,
and in between the tiles.

You broke my heart,
a couple of weeks ago.
The pieces flew everywhere,
the places I can't seem to reach,
like in your old tee shirt,
and in the lyrics of our song.

Spilt milk and hearts are similar,
really.
It cannot be undone,
but it can be fixed.