You used to hold me in the springtime,
When the flowers bloomed and everything was
colorful.
We shared scilla bulbs to express what we escaped,
but now I found out there was a different kind of pain.
You used to hold my hand in the springtime.
It's an endless cycle to shift through the memories
Of your softness and iridescence;
After it rained, I loved to sit and
watch you mature into brilliance.
You loved to watch me watch you;
Everyday was a performance, and
You used to hold my hand in the springtime.
Frantically, I searched through the unsavory moments
to find what was missing,
For we wouldn't have parted otherwise.
Of, course, it was all for nothing,
since you left and took away the flowers.
You used to exist. I used to live.
Now the red, green, and yellow leaves fall.
You left me with no choice
but to wonder, and wonder, and remember.
Did you ever exist?
This is another obsession themed poem, but it isn't a villanelle.
