i want your flowers like babies want god's love

I will be sad not to spend the fall with you. I drive down these streets, each of which is a memory of you. Roots force their way through the hardened tar, leaves coat my car and like incessant papercuts I am reminded of every memory of you, every memory I had yet to make and now never will. And as I watch the colours fade I will imagine you were there with me, leaning against the white bark of an ancient tree.

I will be sad to spend winter alone. It's as cold as cancer here in those months, and I will be sad not find myself wrapped up in your warmth in the mornings. I will regret that you made me see a season of my life in black and white. I may try thaw your heart by the fire while mine breaks like ice, but when I look outside I will be reminded of the fact that everything is dead.

I will be sad not to start afresh with you. I will be blind to new life, turn my back on the endless potential of new beginnings and I will not notice the new colours surrounding me. I will hate myself every day for wanting your flowers, and every day I will mourn that they are dead.

I will, perchance, fall in love with summer once more. And I will be sad to know it will end the same way. In the battle for love, I will die again. But more tragic than anything else is that it will not be worth dying for.

There is no other you.