Disappointment is so bitter
Especially when the September light
With its orange-tinted, fading  bright,
Remimds me of the season we
Fell in love.

We never fell out -
No great downfall has occurred -
Only wounds created by words.
Yours barelling down one path,
Mine getting lost along another
In the woods
Of my childhood home.

Tending such wounds requires
Virtues we both lack.
The first of which is acceptance,
Which you call amnesia -
So let's accept and forget,
If you wish, and not look back.

Not even to remember why
Deploying words as weapons
Peels back the veneer of love
To reveal the troubling rawness below?
So, we take the high road, using
Soft words that don't rain down like blows.