I composed a symphony of explanations;
Music notes danced upon apologies,
A whirlwind of ways I could let you go,
Forget you ever existed,
But you tend to linger, don’t you?
Your gangly figure obscured by sturdy oak trees,
Never reaching out, never speaking,
Watching, waiting, aching.
And if I am being honest, my deafened ears
Would hurt less if this music hadn’t stopped,
If you spoke, screamed,
For I can no longer hear melodies.
You have snapped strings,
And this remaining silence echoes,
It always echoes.
Louder than thunder.