The deep valley told me a secret, but little it knew I was not to be trusted…

I held on like a last bleached petal of the spring tulip, long gone. Thoughts like morbid oasis of blossoming cherries, in a throat wilting summer, where sane and emotions evaporate. The tears dried up leaving salt marks on the edge of my eye, never seeming to justify the gloom and ache.  Wind it wails of love misplaced, as it searches in the nooks and along the edges of the valley. A poppy in the middle of the wheat field is standing out reminding me of us, a picturesque irony of ambiguous misgivings. Love drizzled in like the welcomed monsoon, but left me swamped. The sticky knee-deep pangs of abandonment like quick sand, broke me into a sweat and pulled me into nightmares. I wake up repressed like a maple leaf in the mighty river. Helpless like a firefly in day, and lost to love. In the painful harmony of the lake and the mountains, the blue sky and the clear waters, the weeping willow by the edge seems to realize it all. Every now and then it would move and stir, creating silent ripples of pulsating soreness. The ripples they seem to grow one inside another just like my daily justifications of murk, never too immense for you and never trivial for me.