farewells and selfishness

I want to be alone.

I want the few birds left on the bare trees to sing just for me.
But the reason there are so few is because I didn't do anything to stop that.

I want the trickling streams, in their nearly inaudible gurgling, to whisper to me that I'm different, special.
But I'm only another consumer, another person snatching every resource for myself, unknowing.

I want the trees to promise that they'll miss me.
But I never knew them as anything other than the trim on my windows.

I want to walk in circles around my planet, tracing my name in the sands of what were once oceans, slipping bits of brittle grass in my pocket, stroking the petals of the wilting flowers, lying on dirt and what's left of the fallen leaves, staring up at the wounded sky.

I want to cry.

But how can I?
How can I have enough water left in me to cry when
​there's not enough for the trees that once helped me to breathe?
How can I claim this planet as my own when
it should belong to all of the unborn turtles and tigers and every other animal that never
got to see it because of my own actions?
How can I mourn the planet I love
when it was my own selfishness that
killed it?

I want to go back in time.