Enough

You have a favourite tree in this city, & the one he hung himself from is in the same public garden.

You took me there once: 2 am., we were drunk.

You climbed the trunk & sat on the branch where he swung for hours, years ago, until the grounds-keeper found him in the morning. & quit their job soon after.

He is always somewhere in your mind, the memories you want desperately to survive come flooding back to you sometimes & the pain in your eyes is unbearable.

So much trauma.

Every year you plant flowers at the base of the tree. Every year you despair as age reminds you again just how young he was.

So much trauma.

I asked permission & you let me sit on the branch with you.

Looking down on the ground, every suicidal thought returned & I realised I wasn't ready;

I wanted

to lay beneath a cherry tree & bleed, buried beneath fallen blossoms:

no, I wasn't ready then…

was your friend?

You asked me & the only answer that I could find was that some of us need more

than life can provide, but we search until the searching

becomes too much.