You were you.
a man with shades of darkness that consumed.
A man with hands that loved
but fingers that dealt
instead of feelings that felt.

I was me,
a boy with eager optimism.
A boy with firecracker emotions,
and all you ever did was set me on fire,
but how could I ever mind with those loving hands.

You were a man with a distant sweetness,
reminiscent of honeysuckle,
of the pine needles strewn upon the ground
upon which I now stand.
Perhaps more tasted in the air than smelled,I inhale deeply
with the vapor wafting unseen on the breeze.

Trees stand lifeless,
their wood dry and white
the bark once clung desperately to the wooden knots of the timber
just as we had once clung to one another.

The sun of the new morning streaks in slim rays
between inhabitants of the dense woodland.
The aftermath defined beauty.

No animals hunt,
no birds call.
Instead the crunch of our feet
upon the twigs and leaves
that litter the understory
echo across the vast forest.

Mosquitoes do not even fly
through the breeze
which you once made sweet for me.