The Love That Left Poem by linus gerald

Once, the wind carried whispers of laughter,
and rivers mirrored the sky's gentle blue.
Trees held hands with the sun,
and the earth hummed beneath our feet
like a heart that knew its own song.

We walked through gardens without fear,
breathing in the scent of soil and bloom,
believing the world's arms
would always hold us.

But love is patient only until it is taken for granted.
We plucked and burned and poured,
till the soil cracked like old promises,
till the seas swallowed their own edges,
till the air itself turned heavy
with the ghosts of what we ignored.

And then it left.
The love that once wrapped around us
like morning light
slipped quietly away,
fleeing the smoke, the wastelands, the silence.

The forests no longer whisper,
only creak in tired resistance.
The rivers murmur grief
through plastic and poison.
The animals, the birds, the bees—
their absence echoes
in the hollow we left behind.

We call it climate change.
We call it loss.
But it is love gone missing,
love abandoned by hands
that forgot how to care.

Yet even now, in the ache of absence,
there is a choice:
to rebuild, to repair, to kneel and listen,
to water what is left,
to sow the seeds we failed to guard.

Perhaps, if we learn humility,
the love that left
will return—not in forgiveness alone,
but in the quiet pulse of rivers
and in the green that rises
from ashes we dared to nurture.

For love does not vanish forever.
It lingers in soil and sky,
waiting for hands
willing to hold it again.