a 21st century lover

left in the rain

left in the rain - December 1, 2023

What's there left to say? It's clear that we stop here. You made it clear that I was no longer a priority. Not even a thought that appeared in your mind. It took me to stand in front of you and yell my deepest, innermost feelings for you to even look up at me. It's like this rain drowned you out from me. I constantly pulled your arm for us to escape this rain. Yet, you stand here grounded and rooted. This storm has you tranced and hear nothing from me. I desperately to grab your attention. I try to tell you that I would be here when you need me. I'm here to talk when things get too overwhelming. All I could do but it was in vain. I had only one thought: hold your hand and grow rooted next to you in hopes that when you wake up from your bark and leaf-covered daze you would see me. And soon enough, you go ahead and wake up as I hold on as best as I could. But, you break away from my grasp and rush inside. Now, I stand outside, unable to move. It was my very own prison. Unable to speak. Unable to reach you. Unable to run away. Unable to see you give me that sweet smile. I am stuck. And as the storm grows worse, I rot away. My leaves scatter into the winds. My trunk peels its sturdy bark. Will I survive this hurricane?

As the winds come in blowing, I break more by the hour. I become half of the man I was before. Still, I remain in place because I have the hope of a fool. The will of an ignorant man in love. Hanging on by a finger before I get swept away. I stand my ground no matter the scar inflicted. Even as the hurricane blows by, I brace myself for this foolish hope. I aim to regrow my works of art so that you may gaze at me once again. Alas, my efforts go nowhere but unnoticed. Just like the tears I cry into sap, the sky cries at this pitiful scene laid before it. But then, finally, you answer my cries. I pray you would pull me from my roots and into your embrace. How wrong I was to trust you so easily. In your hands were the deliverer of my death, the executioner, the end. You cut into me with your blade swift and sharp without a second to delay. I cry and cry a silent scream. My insides cut clean through. Not a single thought of remorse for me in those eyes. And there I go. Timber. Now, I see her no more. I see nothing but grays crying silver. Jewels of water that land on my face. And as quick as she cut me down, she leaves once more with my split carcass. Is this how it is meant to be? My life is reduced to just a burden and annoyance that ridding me was the only choice. I see, then. Then, leave me to my rotting end. I shall let everything rot away. Rot till there is only my lifeless self. The self that is left in the rain for all to see and walk over.