It Ends With A Cycle

Like a villanelle, it's about something that is being obssesed with. but it has no rhyme scheme.

You used to hold me in the springtime,

When the flowers bloomed and everything was

  colorful.

We shared scilla bulbs to express what we escaped,

  but now I found out there was a different kind of pain.

You used to hold my hand in the springtime.

It's an endless cycle to shift through the memories

Of your softness and iridescence; 

After it rained, I loved to sit and

  watch you mature into brilliance.

You loved to watch me watch you;

Everyday was a performance, and 

You used to hold my hand in the springtime.

Frantically, I searched through the unsavory moments

  to find what was missing,

For we wouldn't have parted otherwise.

Of, course, it was all for nothing, 

  since you left and took away the flowers.

You used to exist. I used to live.

Now the red, green, and yellow leaves fall.

You left me with no choice

   but to wonder, and wonder, and remember.

Did you ever exist?