The ache will feel like a willow tree creaking in a windstorm.
Persistent and powerful
Sometimes the wind wins
But never doubt the strength of roots buried deep.
Even with branches missing
The willow will grow to be whole again.

I want the kind of love the birds sing about.

The way they dance across blue skies, sway in the sunsets.

How they wake me up with their love songs.

I want the kind of love that can sing me to sleep.

Losing myself to silent spirals
Backstreet bargains took my voice from me.