The dandelions that colored our cheeks yellow
are crushed underfoot as we twirl, as we glide.

I enjoyed the softness, the innocence, the summer mornings
...and December dawns.
I relished in those moments when we stood, hand in hand,
our eyes aching from sleeplessness.

"Again," I prayed but who was listening, after all?
Only the trees, the dandelions, and you.
...Always you.
I remember sword fights in swamps, I remember
heartbreaks, thunderstorms, papers with silly drawings.

Underneath dimmed lights we'd whisper
tell me what you're afraid of.
Always I'd reply 'the closet' and you'd show me it was empty.
And you would always say
...I'm afraid I'll lose you again.

Again? I asked but you couldn't hear me.
You never could.

Silence is overpowering
and we both know that, now.
My house is lonely without you
(my heart is, too).

Come back.
I'll finally reply to your fear—
let me show you its empty.

Don't lose me again.