Nutmeg

You are loved.

Sometimes I want to tell you I love you but you are not here.

Sometimes I reach out and run my fingers across the walls of the body you once called home.

For a time.

I think about the time we had together. That the scent of something so small could echo through my life in so many ways.

I think about the possibilities, the possibility of me and you, of what our life together may have held.

I walk

I run

Cry.

Dance.

I look at the trees as they sway. Golden leaves dancing towards the earth. They were once seeds too.

How many of those will never blossom into a tree?

Destined to return to their earthy home before they are able to flower.

Your presence dances like these autumn leaves within my heart.

I will carry the seeds of my love for you eternally.

My little seedling. My nutmeg.