Where We Buried Our Love
I still visit the place
where our love
is buried.
The little white
cross I built
is showing decay.
Gone are the
days I would beat
at the uneven ground
praying to any God
that might listen
to bring our
love back.
Our love
wasn’t perfect
But it was ours
and I have trouble
letting go.
I’ve left flowers this
time, I’ll wonder
if you’ll see them.
Or do you
even visit
the place where
we buried our love.
Note from the Missed Connections Chief Bottle Finder: I’ve read this poem a half dozen times and every time it brings tears to my eyes. I want to tell the writer that they have to believe that the flowers will be seen. That they have to believe it right now and forever. Anyone who has ever lost a person they love would agree.
