This love will always be yours

Thoughts from watching you

The smell of lilacs in the living room,
the ones you plucked from the neighbor’s tree,
fills the room with their sweet aroma.

It makes me think of you, as if you weren’t here.
You haven’t left me yet, but it’s life’s only melancholic certainty.

I am not afraid; however, I find myself already grieving
my dandelion.

I see you breathing in the scent of wisterias
as they bloom beneath the windowsill
wishing time would stand still for me.

I grieve that I will never have enough pictures of you to be “enough”,
that I do not have enough recordings of your voice,
that the time we spend together will never be sufficient.

Nevertheless, I enjoy every second we spend together,
every argument, every boring chore, every impatience.

When it happens, will I cry? Will I be stoic?
What questions will I be asked? Do I even want to know?

I heard you wake up this morning,
excited to ask how you slept,
as I brewed mallow tea for you.

I don’t know when this will end.
All that is certain is that I will always be mourning you,
as you are always mourning her.

And the love continues, eternal
“I have so much of it, I don’t know what to do with it”,
almost longing for someone to reply
“then give it to me, I will nurture it”.

But this love will always be yours,
as yours is forever hers.

In the meantime, I will be here with you.

Her, in her natural habitat