what is love without heartbreak?

a youthful shout echoes from down the dim-lit street
and a slow wind rustles the browning oaks.

i clutch my flowerpetal in my hand
looking to the overcast sky for answers.

should i leave?

i’m kicking the pebbles on the asphalt, remembering
the soft taps we secretly shared under the table
the inadvertent brushes turned to frantic hold-me-nows
or forever hold your peace.

the road we walked last summer is closed today, but no matter.
i climb over the fence to the empty street
so i can feel the familiar crisp breeze one more time

there’s a dying finch on the sidewalk,
his vibrant colors matted with his own lifeblood
and i ask him,
what is life without death?

what is life
without the loss of life
and what is bliss
without its extinction?

the fledgling
in his final chirps
answers:

there is no joy
without consequence.

and there is no beauty in reaching new heights
without the risk of falling.

i mourn the bird
whose flight to the sun
will send his soul to the stars,
and i promise to bury his broken body.

i grieve for the human mind
and its inability to grasp this passerine’s wisdom.

the flowerpetal in my hand crumbles to ashen dust.