Chasing sunsets
In search of the closure you never gave
Twisting your silence into words
To fit the story I wrote for us

So which is better?
A pretty lie carved into rotting wood,
Or a tree left untouched?

Because those last letters ache just as much as the lingering silence,
And I wonder why yours didn't make it out alive,
But I guess mine never were

So perhaps both the statue and the tree are broken,
For one is smothered, and the other's never given proper sun  

I'm sorry I didn't want you to live without me.