Orphaned Chrysanthemum

Why I always come back to you?

Might be the night breeze,
the song of those erstwhile chimes,
the abandoned dreamcatchers,
or the pen I used in writing poems for you.

I haven't talked to you in a while.
Dandelions still appear as dainty
as they were the time you went away.
And these roadsides become as lonely
as the alleyway where your footsteps camp.

Days start to get anxious.
Again, I am left alone --
bearing the pain I have known
since the day my spine withered
with the musing I had...
when whimsically,
Dandelions bloomed but never flourished.