Roses In Death

Note #4 (Fallen Tree)

You were never heaven, we were never a delight. So don't smuggle my name in shit because it'll only slither back into your life, through the many cracks in your soul, a soul which I still don't believe you have.

Deep in contemplation, my eyes lock their gaze onto the water in the reservoir, as it glistens like a potion, bewitching me through the trees. I come here to think, I come here to speak, I come here to breathe. This clearing holds me so dearly, like a lover in a tragedy. I've kissed many here on this old fallen tree, that seats me and many provident storms of the past.
It is Sam's spot and it always will be, I remember when he made love to me, on this old fallen tree, "It's rare that love is what both see."
Scouts come here and light fires, leaving space-black ash surrounded by bruised rocks, there's wood placed against trees too- accumulating little dens that seemed to not hold a single night, but still holding on for dear life.
As always, I jumped the gun, telling myself that no pain would follow after our swan song was sung. I'm stupid in many ways. I feel as though I still could've done something, like prepare for the heartbreak that would soon take a sledgehammer straight to my chest, endangering the contents snug within. I should've known because the pain is always delayed, with no other purpose but for protection, protection by something deeper than myself against the hurricanes that don't understand art of subtlety.
I'm afraid my heart'll be worn out by the time I'm an adult, you see, I'm reckless with it, I place my heart in hands that are pretty, not ones that are capable of being in love. I too fear these surrounding trees won't be able to hold me for much longer, they may not even be here by the time I turn eighteen. Then, I'll have no direction, no establishing points that'll help me decipher North or East, all I'll have left are eight poignant daggers, which all managed to leave a scar upon the softest tissue, in the most delicate of spots.