Worrying therapists and adored by poets

Seasons come and go,

The sun will fall, and still rise.

Today need not slow,

For you will come back to me,

Without a desperate plea.

And still, I held you,

Without knowing if that warmth around me,

Was you,

Or the phantom feeling of the last one who said:

“I love you.”

Fire came from the sky, then,

So I held you.

I held you because fire burns strings and bridges,

And letters of love and memories of you.

I held you until your silhouette melted,

And became synonymous with mine.

I held you until your words slurred,

And only mattered when paired with mine.

I held you until your brilliance was an idea,

And I echoed it, saying it was mine.

I held you,

But you are not mine.

The leaves continue to fall.

Pollen to my lungs,

Sugary fruits to my throat.

Light burns this keen heart.

Only afar can I love,

Distance is my work of art.

Reading between lines,

Clawing through snow, my hands tire.

Shuddering, freezing,

Do you know it’s been snowing?

Between lines, winter meets fire.

The days trudge along,

Slow, yet always persistent.

Your leaves rot away,

Yet your beauty never fades,

Only my lone memories.

This love is not mine,

The sun won’t admire me back,

But I will be fine.

I will not grieve what I lack,

I’ll stay back to let you shine.

It is awful, that berry,

It made you see a fairy,

One so very, horribly pretty,

One you thought you would marry.

But it was only a trick.

And it made you sick,

A feeling that refused to leave quick.

So it would simply be idiotic,

If you fell for another berry.

You will pick not a single one from the prairie,

For you will be picky.

I understand, so I will leave you be,

For you will always see—

The deadly nightshade,

Even when it's only me.

Your gorgeous bouquet,

I bite and burn and destroy,

That’s just how love is.

Squandering and consuming,

With blood on my lips, grinning.

The snow remains white,

While the corpse remains buried,

And forever burnt.

The ground remains soft and light,

And always free of remains.

I wish to forget,

And say that the leaves that fell,

No longer matter.

But that smile was beautiful,

I remember how it fell.

Love is not for show,

Not for one quite so divine.

You are loved, and so,

The sun will smile with a shine.

And yet, never back at me.