You loved the flower, so I bloomed—
a fragile,hopeful thing.
But by the time I learned to shine,
you’d ceased to love the spring.
You loved the song, so I became
a trembling melody.
But when your sorrow slipped away,
you had no need of me.
You loved the sky—I stretched so wide,
a silent,endless blue.
You asked for clouds,I gathered gray,
then asked for rainfall,too.
And so I fell, a silver veil,
to meet you where you stand—
but there you were,held dry beneath
an umbrella in your hand.
O, what a quiet, cruel design—
to turn into each prayer you’d make,
yet never feel your hand in mine,
never be real for your sake.
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC
You loved the flower, so I bloomed—
a fragile,hopeful thing.
But by the time I learned to shine,
you’d ceased to love the spring.
You loved the song, so I became
a trembling melody.
But when your sorrow slipped away,
you had no need of me.
You loved the sky—I stretched so wide,
a silent,endless blue.
You asked for clouds,I gathered gray,
then asked for rainfall,too.
And so I fell, a silver veil,
to meet you where you stand—
but there you were,held dry beneath
an umbrella in your hand.
O, what a quiet, cruel design—
to turn into each prayer you’d make,
yet never feel your hand in mine,
never be real for your sake.
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