With heavy heart and wilted rose
I amble down the busy street.
Dark shadows quietly pass me by.
They dwindle into sure and steady obscurity
As they amass into one, giant blur of faces.
There is unspoken sadness in the air,
So I search for something happier.

I strain to listen for the melodies of singing birds,
Or stray laughs here and there.
But all is silent.
Even the sound of heavy traffic fades into a saturnine lull.
Wistful thinking and wishful thinking
Fill my inner conscience.
I struggle to search for something happier.

I turn the corner without giving it a second thought
Because I’ve been down this road so many times before.
I visit her regularly.
I like to talk to her even if she can’t hear me.
It’s easier to talk to her than it is to talk to anyone else.
But, after a while, the pain becomes unbearable.
So I leave her, for a time, in search of something happier.

I always come back though.

I walk over to her and sit down on a nearby bench.
I recount the entire day’s details to her, as usual.
The customary exchange.
Yet, the whole time I’m doing this,
One, nagging thought won’t leave my head.
It eats me up inside until I can no longer hold it in.
I try to, but I can’t search for something happier.

I let everything out.
All the madness, all the sadness.
I pile it on top of her.
Bury her with my words.
I want her to know how much harder she’s made my life,
How much she’s made me want to give up.

And then, like that, I’m done.
I’ve exhausted my rage and my eyes can well no longer.
Sorrow is slowly blanketed by a reluctant understanding
That waits to be yanked off at our next meeting.
I remember this wasn’t her fault;
She did not choose this for herself.
Then again, people so rarely do.

I stand up, walk over, lay the rose on her grave, and turn away
In search of something happier.