you and me.

At first, it was a drip, a drip that splashed and scattered.
Then, it was a stream, a rivulet that permeated the surface.
Eventually, it became a river, a torrent that engulfed me whole.

A drop of honey that fell off the hive as my reward,
a scent of summer that drifted across my winter,
a lamp that dimmed the harshness of my daylight,
such was the promise you brought with you.

A hop that awoke my lead-filled legs,
a Christmas-y celebration that didn’t need decorations,
a sunrise that was longer than my nights,
such was the hope you brought with you.

A reality that coloured my dreams bright,
a symphony that needed no lyrics,
a flight that was unafraid and wingless,
such was the inspiration you brought with you.


But hives have bees, and summers are harsh,
lamps burn out and hops are impractical,
celebrations expire and sunrises turn scorching,
colours blind and symphonies deafen,
flights kill and streams become rivers.
Such was the love you brought with you.

I was absorbing it in drop by drop,
but the torrent drowned me.
I was hiding you in me, flourishing you,
and in the process, I shriveled up.
I was keeping you alive, nourishing you,
and thus, bit-by-bit, I died.