A Sycamore Tree Goodbye

You ask me without words, without moving your mouth Where did that love we had go, that would've lasted forever, without a doubt? I answer you, also, without uttering a word, that I know where it went, it went, where all faded loves go. Our love is the story of the Sycamore Tree. To flourish and strengthen and grow up to be a stronger version of itself, a branch must be taken from it's large body and carefully planted. After many years this branch will finally be a beautiful replica of the first Sycamore Tree. My heart is that tree that has outgrown its branches. For the sake of its health, lumbermen carefully cut with lances This branch that is stunting this tree's evolvement; ruining the purpose for which it was meant. If these lumbermen fail to act with urgency and decide to delay, This tree will give up, sure of it's destiny, and simply wait to decay. You are the branch, and our love is the dust That falls from the tree to the ground and is crushed by the men as they walk, heavily on their feet after a long days work and make their retreat.