Springtime
and the flowers welcome
a change of the sun
on a window box,
well tended.
But she changes
with the seasons,
winter to spring,
becomes a stranger
to her own shadow.
Someone else.
Summer
and the cherry flowers bloom
on branches like pink tears
unfolding.
The heart bush bleeds,
the window box is home
to a thin layer of dust,
and she has changed once again.

Who do you want to be today?
This is who we are
and who we are is who we want to be.
If you want to be thunder
then can I be your lightning?

Fall now,
and the flowers have shriveled.
In a bed of dust on the window box,
fallen leaves make their slumbers.
But she is no longer there
to view the change.
She is a cigarette now,
nicotine swirls of smoke, 
while winter
approaches on speedy wings.
The snow has buried everything now, but she
doesn't realise - to busy in the hunt
for the forgotten past
but she cannot find herself
buried under the powder.
Change has lost her,
forgotten behind.

Who did she want to be today?
She can't remember.
Who do you want to be today?
This is who we are 
and who we are is who we want to be.
Well, I'd like to be lightning
if you'll be my thunder.
Who do you want to be today?
Promise not to change 
if this is who we are
and all we are is all we want to be.
Is this all you are today.