The plot looks so good in my head now:
a riveting pause, the final vow
a magical rendezvous left asking why,
how and when did the lilacs started to die 
when once upon a time it was said and done,
the second thoughts and distraught gone
so help me if I fantasize a bizarre goodbye 
I am never sure what to do, how to get by.
But perhaps like undead plants I still can
water it till it grows back to lengthen the span
for I do not want to make yet again another decision, 
it is better to wait, savor you, and repress division.
So help me if I am questioning this role,
I tiptoe out the door but i know it in my soul
I’m my own prisoner, I’m not going anywhere 
even if I already have my deathly answer.