Poetry For The Broken

apple

To me, an apple is a symbol of love.

The first time you cut apples for me, I could feel it — each piece sliced with care.

The next day, I planted an apple tree just because you loved them;

It made me realize how every little thing you love matters to me.

I noticed how you lovingly watered the apple tree, and it made me smile.

When I look at our apple tree, I still smile, even though you're no longer here.

At times, I remember how much you cared for it, so I can't help but care for it too.

I remember how you'd ask me to pluck an apple for you,

A gentle request, a memory that lingers like morning dew.

Even though our love has faded, my feelings were as true as our tree,

And even if you no longer love me, I look at it with quiet affection.

Deep down, I desperately wish our love was as lasting as an apple tree.

Each season it grows, bearing the weight of care we shared,

Its roots a reminder of what was tenderly spared.

Through sun and rain, it stands as we once did,

Unmoved by time, by sorrow undivided.

I sometimes wonder, as I watch its steady bloom,

If love could endure, just as it fills this room,

In the leaves that whisper of a love that once grew strong.