We all have our own rituals, this is mine.

I tried to spark up conversation with you, again, and it went no where, like always. Sometime a few weeks ago, I saw something on your Instagram that struck the final chord and I snapped. Those were the last tears I will shed over you. I see the hole where you use to be but it looks more like a door now, amidst a field of poppy blossoms.

[My mindpalace is pretty magnificent, if I do say so myself.]

I’ll always know to find you in the pines.

Goodbye, Sweet Dixie.

P.S,
I didn’t know it then, but I wrote something for the occasion, a poem no less. I’m only just a wordsmith.

These thoughts circle like wolves.
Predators. Tooth and claw,
blood and bone; until the soil is saturated.
From this sanguine fluid,
the anemone blossoms,
in the memory of us &
I am laid to rest.