Killing the Out of Reach

Laughter echoes across
the parking lot...
I see the birth of stars
as the sun stumbles
in its cycle across the sky.
The snow melts away
from the crooked tree,
ebbs its frozen tides 
into the distance.
I stand between
a thousand colours,
forced to pick only one
of each category.
I am torn 
by the tangerine scent
that everybody desires,
and I only wish
I could smell of strawberries,
the fresh breeze that only he wants.
But strawberries are out of season,
and he is out of reach.
I must choose.
I would not hesitate
if he fell into the sky
became a colour 
I could smell.
But the cold steel pipe
is forcing me to choose.
So I do
as the sun stumbles from its slumber
and the stars undergo last rites,
as the precipitation evaporates.
I would not hesitate;
Life, lost and left behind, 
goes on without me,
for I am surrendered to the change
of the colours,
for I am only strawberry.