An unrealistic scenario

 

I really wanted just some damn flowers.

       “death ends a life, not a relationahip”

-Mitch Albom

 

I believe he died in my arms the last time we shared a hug. The warmth between us, dimmed within the millisecond it took him to let go. And as much as I longed to feel his heart beat against mine, I let go in fear that he’d see just how much I loved hugs.

And unlike you, reading this, I really wear my heart on my sleeve. It is attached to my shirt’s collar and gets grazed by stranger’s smiles on the bus. It leaves blood stains on my friends’ hands where I held onto them. It smells of coffee and in the spring it carries the heavy bitterness of freshly cut grass. My heart is plastered on the walls in my room, bearing drawings of places I’ve been to, poems I engraved on the inside of my skin, and flowers I never received.

https://youtu.be/E6Q6ivzuCi8?si=o5rAxRYBM4_1VqdZ

Tonight I am no longer a mess… weirdly I have cried more during the periods in my life when I loved a person, than during childhood. And tonight, with the warm blanket around my shoulders I write this about loss.

Loosing people is beautiful.

Be it losing touch after one of you went to another school, or that you no longer share the same way home. Or you never saved each other’s contacts thinking that you’d forever go outside to play together. Sometimes we lose people on the bus trip home. I lost people I still see every day. I lost people while sharing a cup of coffee and I have met others while looking for a book to read.

 

Dear friend/ stranger, reading this,

In one way or another, I hope I lose you someday. Because that would be proof that it was worth keeping track of having you.  The empty space left behind will shape my mind and your smell will linger for a while longer.

I hope every walk or talk shared will bloom as time passes by and we end up meeting at the roots of time, to compare gardens filled with flowers of the past. The blue of the petals in my  garden whispers sweet nothings in the wind, while I descifer how time sounded. Leaves, be they torched from the sun’s envy or briming with green as the morning dew graces them, detach and leave behind the traces of melancholy.

Bring a blanket and I’ll bother with the pillows, so we could silently piece together what it could’ve been. In the end parting ways will be easier, as we understand how much space one needs to grow into something unique.

None of us will look back as we march forward, only briefly revisiting the past between fleeting moments...

 

“But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep”

-Robert Frost