Again

I see that acacia tree and I get vacuumed back to the past. When we both had a different type of light in our eyes, with the reflections of that clear brook evident in our irises, where we thought that the sun only revolved around us, and us alone. We thought we knew better, or did we? Did we truly know anything at all? My heart gurgles a bit, as it chokes, bleeding on memories... I am beside myself, and I look so stupid, hugging that tree, a lifeline to what was. I envy that tree, for its sturdiness, its roots being so deep-seated, so much unlike us, easily broken, swayed, uprooted. I loathe that tree, for it still blooms, blushing with its bright pink flowers so delicate-looking and beautiful. So unlike myself. I feel ugly now. I actually am. With hate and guilt eating at me from my core, how could I not be? I am rotten. I am corroded. From the looks of it, I seem to have drunk from that brook (now polluted), ingesting the trash strewn there I just never knew how much filth there was. I am not infallible. I thought you were. But I was wrong. Dead wrong. You tried to pull me up, but became too heavy for you... I dragged you down with me, so deep, too deeply that I had to bury you. Along with my heart and soul, which have both turned into stone. I am stoned. Yes, I feel so heavy, so heavy I wish someone would bury me, throw me in the sea so I could sink to the bottom and be forgotten. Or better yet, is there a magic pill being sold somewhere that can make me go back— Start all over and do things over? What I would give to recapture that light, to have you back but I know it is too late. You’ve gone already. Left me... Or so I thought. I always had the tendency to be wrong, and it had never felt so great. I turn around and a different kind of light kindles my I(rise)s. Like that acacia, I bloom again.