Unblooming

some things aren’t meant to last,
like that purple hue in the orange sky.
while some things from a distant past
you can never really say goodbye.

like a book closed, unread, unfinished.
a start of a spark, quietly extinguished.
they were the what ifs, left hanging at the cliff.
never mended. never truly ended.

like echoes trapped in an abandoned room.
memories of spring but the flowers never bloom.

like a familiar word that almost made sense.
entirely made up,
merely willed into existence.