Confession: I visited our pond.
The one where we met, with the lilies.
I picked one up and admired it close,
Holding it tightly to my chest, as if a bible
Over a smoldering flame
Knowing that if I let go
I admit that there is no God.

You picked one up before,
Showed me the soft petals
Laughed when I went to sniff it
But you only pushed it on my nose
And we laughed…at the pond.
You knew, back then, about water lilies.

You told me of different colors
Called them by their Latin names
Told stories that I believed
While holding a water lily.
You knew back then
That the tethered roots in the pond
Will break, and the lily will float away.

I put the lily back into the pond,
Knowing that I agree to defeat.
It floats, loosely and yet intertwined.
All alone.