It was clumped,
a dense mass of twisted branches and
crimson beads,
so much like the way you wrapped yourself up.

You were sheathed in your own defenses,
always hiding,
always afraid to show yourself,
unsure of how you would be received.

The only time you ever regret
is when you stuck out your arm,
reached for that "gold band"
and hoped it would keep its promise of
eternity.

I didn't believe you
when you said it would only hurt.
I told you love only hurts if you
lose it.

You never got that far.

It was taken,
a broken life with fate at fault.

And now all I can see in you is that
perpetual burning,
your fingers reaching for what they
never could hold.

A hand stretching outward,
always inches from where it wants to be.