How simple an answer it was, to a difficult question,
"Hold my hand", we would have said with a sea of emotion.
But a good heart is not meant to keep score,
It just seeks another heart, to love, to adore,
Or so we thought, for very long,
Until one day, we were proven very wrong.
Fingers trying to grope just a twig, just a leaf,
Even one, broken apart from the tree we seeded together,
Watered and watched grow, laughed and played beneath,
Prayed for and protected from rough weather.
Didn't we work through the weeds at that time?
How then the roots rot, without reason or rhyme?
The tree still stands but not with that old strength,
Like our own special symbol of a love never meant.
We watched the bridges burn,
Ashes and smoke, almost to the point of no return.
Blisters from words and uncaring eyes so scathing,
We just weren't admitting - it was all ending.
Our yesterdays forgotten, our todays orphaned, we must let them go,
As dust will slowly settle upon an untouched memory though.
Like a period to a long running sentence.
And think that it was all only a pretense...