The Palm House

​The ticking hands of time and
Many miles more than before is what lies between us now.

But still, I find myself in this place

That’s so similar to what I once called ours.

So I sit on a bench in the same way I did before

And let my hand creep into the empty space that was yours.

The earth smells different to how I remember it but what I remember most is you.

Your hand chained to mine, like I was your anchor.

I had to stay on the ground while your eyes drifted away to the solitude in your mind.

I always felt like they should shine brighter, your eyes

But they were suffocated under the shadow of your sadness.

I found comfort in the smell of the tree-tinged air

The feel of the earth in my palm waiting for me to create something with it.

It wasn’t me who kept everything down

And I was never meant to be an anchor.