it had been resigned to me from the start.

the seeds i wove through his fingers when we were young began to grow roots through the skin,
they sprouted in july,
and they bloomed in mid autumn.

they were white around the edges, and faded yellow like crystal sunshine,
every petal delicate and divine as the last.

i reached to touch one of these once tender flowers,
and i was pricked by an unforgiving thorn.

such rage of a man so beautiful had turned a forgiving stem into a weapon before my eyes.

yet still,
i picked every flower as it grew.

he arrived in the darkness and broke through the sky,
i fell upon one knee as i kissed and i cried,
the violinists rhythm sped,
as i turned behind,
down fell the trees as clouds broke with a shriek,
down went the forest,
he stood mellow and meek.

i found myself floating upon a winter fog,
bisected between the beauty of the day, and the safety of the night.
i felt my hair recede, and my skin burn to the touch.

although all of my loves remained slaves to the light, i floated delicately, onto the darkness beam