It's in the crisp morning air,
The sparkling maples
Coated in snow.

It's in the old weathered mountains,
The verdant forests
Speckled with roofs.

It's in the small cozy towns,
The rolling farms
Cows and all.

It's in the natural relaxed manner,
the antique feel
In modern day.

It's in the deep emerald Vermont,
The beautiful state
I call home.

When I witnessed a rare fragility of the rain unbecoming—pouring its madness, tears following the wind that brings me to a place where I knew I witnessed an unfortunate crime, an absence of an absolute evil—cruel crime I would not be able to forget; the great tragedy of what was once.

It was all I saw.
It was all I felt.
It was all I knew.

The comfort and the gruesome thought of being a witness to it all—to the chaos, the fraudulent rage of the supposed love I knew; until I became a victim of it.

…and the absence of my answered prayer turned to basking in idiotic romantic fantasies I had built. All that interested me was the world I created inside this big rotten head of mine.

What an unfortunate time to be a witness in an unfortunate crime called: the absence of love.

While odd things create reality, dreams do come true, a bittersweet goodbye turns to a sweet return. All I know is once in a while, there comes an absence. How do I return the sparks back?

Maybe her dress is a little wrinkled,
and her hair is always out of place…

Maybe she doesn't need to seek perfection,
to live her life with grace.

Maybe she gets a bit tired,
and her thoughts lose their speed…

Maybe she gives herself time,
to prioritize her basic needs.

Maybe her heart beats to a rhythm,
that only her wit can hear…

Maybe her strength lies in her softness,
and her courage in her tears.

Maybe some days,
she’s swallowed the sun in her smile…

And maybe other days,
she allows herself to fall apart for a while.

Maybe she knows,
of all the love life can give.

And maybe she knows,
that a life without love
is not one that has been lived.