On Cherry Trees and Pirates

"We will buy a house and plant a cherry tree,
that way you will always have your favorite fruit."
I liked the way that you were when we were dreaming
and making plans.
You joked we should sneak to the house at night
and plant a tree before it was technically ours:
a secret adventure to share.
I laughed and logged the memory away
of your face when you said it,
but I was always the rule follower,
and you were always the pirate.

We moved into the house,
and you forgot the cherry tree.
And I didn't mind,
because I didn't need a cherry tree
as long as I had you.

Looking back, I think I had it backwards -
I needed the cherry tree.
I needed my own dreams,
more than I needed you.

Years after you moved out,
you came and planted a cherry tree in my yard -
still the same pirate.
But it isn't mine.
It's not the same.
And cherries are still my favorite fruit,
but every time you ask how
"your cherry tree" is doing,
I think about chopping it down.