I cried once.
Over a leaf.
Tears falling with the fragments that crumpled to the floor from my palm.
A leaf doomed to die regardless. Picked from its provision.
Lack of sustenance would bring it to the floor and guide it to rot.
Regardless of my holding it.
Somehow, though, I could have saved it. If I really tried. If I was better: more gentle, sweeter, easier.
If I really tried.
But that's wrong...
I couldn't have saved that leaf.
Not if I was better: more gentle, sweeter, easier.
Not even if I tried really hard.
Not with gloves over my rough palms, not if I swore to obey its every move as it was thrown within the cold gusts.
Tend to it on hand and knee.
I could not have saved that leaf.
That leaf was doomed to die.
Over that leaf.