We didn’t, all four seasons once around,

but my unconditional love never stood a chance to keep your heart bound///


This pain, the wind brought in rebounds every time I enter my home, I remember the lights bright and him sitting crossed on the ground

No hellos, no greeting, just a decision waiting for me

Like the wind which blew him in, it was out of my control causing blurred vision

I wish I could say now I sleep in my bed without thinking of him, nearby, on the cold tile, but I can’t.

He’s everywhere here, a ghost in my black silk sheets stapled to me and I am trapped. Displaced, my home becomes a cursed tower of regrets and pottery I shattered

Tattered my beliefs scattered in the little red pieces we shared.


I should have been a member of our ship, a decision maker, a part of the crew, instead of a buoy off in the distance.


I was a distance away, floating in cold water, wanting to hold him and wishing for his execution in synchronization, I wanted him to hurt. All of me felt he wouldn’t. He must have misplaced it along the way, his love that is, as soon as he realized the mess and gore, and imperfections of my life. If I was a year he was a day, but he saw me as an obstacle in his way, even with every boost after boost I gave.


Now for the Year:


Our love was Winter, a puppy in love he was, this boy looked at me like a star lassoed down from heaven. A bright shining love to fill all the crevices. Broken beds fixed again and again from mischief at night, with whispers under goose feather covers. Walks with his family and showers revealing our nature always turned into something more later.


Our love was Spring,  He planted seeds, a garden to grow in a home with a little girl in white on a wrap-around porch who I had never wanted until that moment. Then, when I needed him most, he ran, only to come back with a desire to create “new worlds”, always fixated on “growth”, he sought to graph something new from a bulb already in bloom, see this flawed body that housed my marigold soul, lilac mind, and tulip heart never was a full enough bouquet. His daffodil head desired more, more than I could ever provide. As he once said, “Perfection.”



Our love was Summer, warm when he went for his walks and talked with his mother. Sunny when I abided by his rules and performed the way he wanted me to. Easy sailing, it was bliss, see there was goodness, as I believed much of it was. I begged for a bend in his river, but he would never let the cottonwood grow, only focused on how many fish lived there, always wanting me further. I thought this was love, it must have been. However, his quixotic pursuit to have others entranced by his perfection left me rotting.


Our love was Fall, slopey chocolate cakes he crafted and negotiations born from proposals, but “it would all work out” better off a buoy on a boat than in the sea, I fell hard for his promises and his false anxiety-ridden desires to merge our lives, and my Thumbelina heart made me love his possibility over reality. He asked for more and more of me and so I gave, until…


Our love was winter, again, I decayed from the weight of his thousand critiques, and something bobbed to the surface. Someone else he tried to craft in his marble image. A greek goddess who bore a striking resemblance to his reflection, which even now you could catch him gazing upon in the water. Reality may have been something different but as my friends tell me, there sits no point in fixating since he threw me overboard and docked the boat. All I am now is a carcass floating in waters of empty promises.


Our love lived, all of that and more, I wish I hadn’t been so vile when I hit the water but I was scared, so scared of being heartbroken.  I am, still/ scared.