Her roots are growing upon your being,
waiting for the warmth of your presence
and the drops of your attention.
As it grows,
she begins to demand more
her appetite to sustain herself grows.
But slowly you’re furthering away
your radiation no longer reaching
upon her bare skin
as the trail of your shadow is left behind.
Just like the rest you’ve furthered,
leaving her parched and left to thirst
the reservoir that has stopped flowing.
Grief tastes like fear,
for attachment is the synonym of fear.
To be intertwined and interlinked,
to give and expect —
but to receive less
with the passing days.
The experience of the past
tremble at the sense of attachment
that is ripped away
to leave her bare.
Before you leave,
before you detach
She will leave
and disentangle herself.