The fibres of my being firmly in touch with you.
No reason given.
No heart wrenching back story.

No remorse given by that little piece.
A non soluble glue.
A supernatural grip, that keeps latching on to you.

Hearing the echoes of paths once traveled.
An emptyness that consumes thoughts, and creates a vacuum.

But the seeds that were planted, will not grow a stalk, nor leaves.
It will not grow any fruit.
No honey for the bear.
No honey from the bees.

Just a soft whisper blowing through the trees.

                                           ~Rainbow