The first petal fades as she hands over the rose. Its knowledge of the goodbye steals a bit of life. Pink and perfect, the rumor of a forever bloom isn’t in the box; only a token of the heart, the remembrance of long nights and soft sighs. If you listen, the words I love you escape when you open it. As the moonlight dwindles, the last kiss lingers. They’ll fall into slumber wrapped in love and wake to a morning of touch…of taste.
You’ll scan the radio looking for a song to break the mood. The notes string down the road as the hawks fly above the fields. They’re flowing today, touched by sunlight and the tears rolling down her cheeks. But keep your eyes forward, glue them to the road. If you break now there’s no hope of turning back or, maybe, that’s the only hope. Another flight waits, just a call away. Still you know she must go. Their hearts call to her and half the tears she cries are for them.
One bag, a quick hug before sorrow takes hold. If you leave fast enough she’ll never see you cry, but did you consider that may be exactly what she needs? So easy to hide behind the words written on the screen. That’s why you’ll forget to call, because you know she feels the pain in every beat; a burden you keep, because it would only make it more difficult. And the last thing you want is add another string. One more and she may break.
She’ll write for you a thousand sunsets. The colors will dance from her fingertips in fevered waves, because it’s the only way she can cope with a heart divided. When you read this, take in each drip, you’ll see how her heart belongs to you…or maybe you won’t. It will never stop the flow, she’ll write about gardens and train tracks and long walks by the river – she’ll write about love, because that’s what you are…to her.