What an easy waste of time it was to pine over you.
You were no tree.
Your body never had roots,
at least not here.
Your seeds had been blown away and now you're planted somewhere else.
Your body is gone,
and every once in a while,
I see your leaves floating here with the passing winds.

And I swear that I can hear your voice.

And maybe you weren't a tree,
maybe you were the wind.

You weren't meant to stay here anyways.