And it feels like I can almost hear it drop from its place, my heart, slowly so slowly does it
fall. Miles and nine years away I can see it, fall. My eyes can only but watch,
and my mind can only but wonder, as I watch it, fall. A million and more
questions - as mist - float about and haze my sight. The thunderous sound of the
drop, however, knifes through this, only to split and strew my entity into bits.

Miles and Nine years abaft, I met she and she met me, in a humble beginning, A story as Adam and Eve's. Hand in hand we walked day out and day in. Sunrise, sundown, in her arms I found glee and
grace, peace in her face, and so our tree grew in the most desolate of a place.
Her kindness, her stride, her essence and warmness for a presence, belted my
calloused, weary entity as she nursed it nocturnally. By her doing, bit by bit,
did she unbutton my eyes to the ways of Love. Slowly, I learned to crawl, and then
I walked; finally, I owned the skies, with her by my side. And so this how it
had been ever since.

Our roots in each other grew deep. She held my heart dear and I did hers within. Soon, Spring dusted its feet upon our threshold and thereby our tree bore but only one flower. And this was like no other
flower. As the hot eye in the blue sky, this flower shone and illumed the
boughs, and the leaves and the entire tree. Strolling by, came May, and the
flower unmasked into a bud, intermittently; thereafter my heart grew as a fruit
in its place, and I prefer it never in any other place, but where it peacefully
havened then. The tree leafed memories that formed the coolest of shade and
this is how it has been, years since.

Sands of time poured through our glass; and our path diverged into two, an ocean thereby
growing and sitting in between. Days fell on months, months on years, miles and
a mile away it grew into nine long years. Hence, it tallies to this morn. This morn, I
hearken a sound like no other. And it feels like I can almost hear it drop from
its place, my heart, slowly so slowly does it fall. Miles and six years away I
can see it, fall. My eyes can only but watch, and my mind can only but wonder,
as I watch it, fall. A million and more questions, as mist, float about and haze
my sight, yet the thunderous sound of the drop knifes through this, only to
split and strew my entity into nothingness.

I wonder what went wrong; I can only but watch as it falls. I am but a year too short and
miles too far to save it. Too late to save it, for how can I sew a fruit back
on its bough after its fall? I can’t save it. How I wish you would have bid me
prior.