is becomes was –

this moment,

a memory.

time passes – regardless the level of involvement.

words you said;

muted colors on a distant canvas –

messages blurred like watercolor in the rain…

once –

on a journey into your garden –

i thought i heard the sound of humming birds –

a thousand butterfly wings creating a melancholy chorus –

and then,

silence…

would this wound heal faster if self-inflicted?

the pain –

less intense?

your departure – more justified?

i guess that i will never know

the answer to the question of you;

(only sky can understand the sun).

reason –

distant mountaintop –  i fear i can never reach…