I think I loved you once upon a whispers dream.
I think I cared for you more than I thought,
More than it really must seem.
Because what is love to a seed?

A seed with no real intentions.
With no real expressions, but its expected
To grow.

To grow, in the ash painted battlefield,
Where the war set its claim.
The field you fled from, yet your spout remained.
A seed without its sower? A farm without its grower,
but somehow it continued to maintain.
In the beep pits of soot, it set's its proclaims
However, without its owner, it was all said in vein.
I'm sorry, let me refrain.

Refrain from expressing too much because I think it was all too late.
Refrain from expressing it all because I think you were my soul mate.