The Tree That Gave Up

I spent myself on you, one million dollars blown away like dry leaves in a careless breeze. I am empty; I can afford to give you no more. I sacrificed myself for you, my feathered headdress gone, my heart in the jar that you left on the shelf of forgetfulness. I am hollow; I moan in despair and collapse on myself. I lost myself to find you, reduced to a nameless piece of wood while you flourished under my stolen light. I am absent; do you wish I were present?