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I deleted our conversation today,
but first I read it from beginning to end.
It was like watching a seedling sow itself,
turn green, bloom and then wither.
The words, like seeds, sprouted,
in the fertile soil of an open heart.
Every laugh, every whisper,
a soft petal that grew, covered.
As time went by,
the leaves sprouted full of life,
but the sun of routine, relentless,
withered what was once shared joy.
Today I erased our conversation,
with the pain of one who cuts a tie,
but in memory the sprout continues,
waiting for the warmth of a new embrace.