Ingrained on my skin were seeds of flowers that you sowed,
But they took weeks, months,
I was waiting for nature to take its effect,
I was waiting for something to bloom,
But the reality of you was like a shadow looming over them,
And now I’m starting to see the flaws about their placement.
I’d rather be wrong about everything else,
Than be wrong about you,
But I don’t think I’ll get that chance,
And I’ll be fighting against myself and common sense.
A glimmer of hope takes over me,
And of that, I still can’t let go.
You’re this daydream of an unkempt garden I keep dreaming,
But can never visit.
I know you’re not real,
For ghosts to even exist, shouldn’t I first feel something?
(Bouquets haunt me when I sleep!)
Hey, guys. This piece was like therapy for me or like a shower of rain we wait for on hot, humid, sad, bad days. The part in brackets was meant to be funny, I don’t know if that translated well or not. Even though I’ve definitely felt my feelings the last few weeks, I couldn’t get them down on paper. Maybe I spent all of my creative energy into daydreaming, MAYBE.
Recently, it’s been like someone put my sense of self in a mortar and pestle-d the hell out of it. So ending this with a question felt fitting.
Alternative title: You’re starting to fade and that’s okay