Flowers

I have spent so many nights wondering if I should listen to the splashing color thrown to the walls of my throbbing heart, paint my mind with your half crooked smile; or would it be better if I dive through the deep ocean, searching for a light in the middle of the twisted tint–fading.

I still can’t find the answer.

I have been looking for a soft whisper in crowded halls, a gentle touch among the raging waves; a genuine tenderness.

I could not hear a thing.

I have kept a stack of feelings behind my bedroom door, locking them away, not knowing how the roof had been long gone and what seemed like a laundry pile is now an overgrown mountain.

You should see how stunning the sunset looks like from up here.

I have walked through the wreckage of our past, picking up every bit of shattered glass and scraped paper and wooden frame of the memories we had not made yet until my hands were full, but there were too many things I could not hold. Too many words I could not write. Too many us I could not long for.

If I decided to lie beneath the ground, would y–

Would it heal everyone?

"Come, sit with me" He said.
"One day when we're old, we will remember this exact moment." His eyes lightened up, catching every inch of the scenery in front of him.
"And what will you think of?" I mumbled while chewing a chocolate bar, moving my feet up and down immaturely.
"Oh, these old cracked walls and wet bench and tall shady trees--and this view we're looking at; all that might just be a memory, twenty years from now."
I nodded.
"But most of all,"
He sighed and looked at me, softly.
"I'll be thinking of you."
I could see a tiny spark of gloom in his dreamy eyes.