There was a time when you whispered into my ear, and wrapped your arms tight around me to hold life worth living deep inside. You had a plan. You made us "one" for so long. But the truth of that was only practice to make perfect the lie for every "one" you'd enfold. So, what "was" really wasn't. But for you, I learned to trust. In my garden loveseat that has turned to t-rust. Still, in grand design, we took a flowing stream between us and started a pond that became an ocean. The overflowing reality is that now no dam can hold trust in today. And I, I weep and add to that deluge. Other days, I gradually lay the surrounding once fertile landscape of us bare.

Granted, unlike others, you didn't take a backhoe to my fragile flowers. But you rarely took up a rake, hoe or pruning shears. A bit of admiration here and there would only prolong the necessary deadheading. My neglect not to mention your neglect until today. Well, there is a crispness to this cooler air that brings whiffs of change. A whiff now of the few fragrant late flowers and wind-whipped musty fallen leaves--reminders. As you said years ago, "time is of the essence"--so true. I put on the music, with haunting words, that you once sent of Savage Garden. I can choose to let the lie or the life drain out of me as I savage what's left of us.