Harsh and Deserving

You hit me like the way
the rain hits my roof during those spring showers in April,
slowly, then all at once.
Taking my breath as well as my peace of mind
when you left on that cold day in May.
Leaving that flower that bloomed so suddenly
in the barren garden tucked inside
the darkest parts of me
untouched, unwatered, and wilting.

My winter had come early,
and it had come harsh and unforgiving,
but not undeserving.