Everyone I love is dying
Every hedge I worked so hard to trim is overgrown and shriveled
And every flower in my garden they tended is brown.

And they're spreading their flowers elsewhere
And stop here only to help me pick the dead things off the ground.

The only gardener here anymore is too extravagant.
He commisions statues and pillars and fountains that are meant to last forever
While I do my best to blow them down.

I miss the chrysanthemums that bloomed here
And the passionate red roses that I loved to gaze at
And the bluejays that flitted from tree to tree.

The bluejays must have flown elsewhere for the winter.
The statues are in poor taste.

I survey the scene.

Bodies writhe around me to the beat of Deadmau5, fueled by Doritos and vodka, blood pumping thick through their constricted veins. Girls grind on everything in a desperate attempt to catch some poor schmuck's attention, so she can suck him dry, leaving him broke and broken hearted, leaving him a wary, untrusting douche bag, craving vengeance on the female race, hurting every girl he comes across, because one girl wrecked his life. I'm sickened at the thought.
And then, she arrives.

'I'm not in love with her. I'm not gay.' I think to myself, as she parts the crowd like the Red Sea, and my mouth dries up. She is headed in my direction, and I am woefully unprepared. It's not like we've never spoken, in fact, we're good friends. She comes to my band's shows, and she even dated the guitarist (briefly).

I look at my phone (switched off), my drink (just a Sprite), anywhere but her, until I have no choice but to look at her direction. As usual, I'm temporarily stunned by her, taking in her physique, slim, just this side of boyish. I look at her massive blue eyes, clear and deep, like the gods took bits of the sea and gave them specifically to her. Her long, black hair shines in the strobe light, casting shadows on her ivory skin, hiding the pimples on her temples. Her mouth is a stiff, pale pink line, the corners twitching up as all five feet and two inches of her slink towards me like a jungle cat.

"Howdy, stranger." She winks up at me, and I manage a tight, almost robotic smile in return.

We stand against the wall in stony silence until she pipes up.

"You're not…seeing anyone, are you?" She struggles to be heard over the music. I shake my head, my blood pounding in my ears, drowning out everything but her voice, my hands almost vibrating with nerves. "Okay, okay cool, because," I have to stoop to hear her, her voice is so soft, "because I have these tickets to see The Killers and…and…" she gnaws on her lower lip, looking up at me. The only response I can muster is a dumbfounded nod. I thought she was straight. Wasn't she dating that dropout? "Great…so…it's a date?" Her voice cracks on the final word and I giggle, nodding again. She grins, bright, youthful, and bounces away, but before I have the chance to miss her, she turns back and pulls me down to her level to kiss me on the cheek.
The smell of cinnamon and vanilla lingers.

The storm came on slowly
She saw it miles away
And yet
Oh, and yet
She trudged on
Stubborn as ever
In denial
About the storm.

The wind whipped her hair up
She pushed it under a cap
And yet
Oh, and yet
She pushed on
Never caring
About the storm.

And lovers came and went
And she always did her damage
And yet
Oh, and yet
She never knew
She was as brutal
As the storm.

Rain pelted her like bullets
Bringing tears to her eyes
And yet
Oh, and yet
She let them fall
She blamed them
On the storm.

She could feel the cold now
Making her tremble and shake
And yet
Oh, and yet
She denied it
Never seeking shelter
From the storm.

Lighting shot above here
Painting the sky above
And yet
Oh, and yet
She kept on
Hiding her fear
From the storm.

And then HE came unannounced
With an umbrella and things
And yet
Oh, and yet
He brought along
His own clouds
Aiding the storm.

He grabbed her hand tightly
Pulling her faster than she could go
And yet
Oh, and yet
She did not care
He was her world
She forgot about the storm.

And sometimes she carried him
Supporting his frame when he passed out
And yet
Oh, and yet
She did not mind
"Who else would keep him
From dying in the storm?"

But the waves rolled up
And crashed on the two
And yet
Oh, and yet
Losing him
Was far worse
Than any storm.

And now she walks alone
Beaten and worn by the weather
And yet
Oh, and yet
She reached out to her sides
Searching for hands
To guide her through the storm.