We were best friends. Near the end we got closer to being an item more so than the “dynamic duo” that our parents knew us as. But they never knew. Maybe that’s why they still look at me crazy almost a year later when I leave in my pajamas at 2 a.m., with blood shot eyes and come sit on the grass with you and talk for hours. Daylight and nighttime are kind of the same for me now. I’m awake either way. The hours all just kind of mush together and the minutes drag me through meaninglessly like a black hole. So when people show up in the morning, it’s like they’re returning back outside to meet up with their friends in nice weather. But their friends aren’t quite there anymore. The warm feeling they had in their heart is replaced with cold, dark, emptiness…soil. Deep Deep soil. Artificial flowers don’t really smell the same as the roses they used to get for surprise their doorstep. But they don’t die. To me they represent something that we aren’t able to hold onto. Eternity. Forever at their highest peak. The peak in which buds in the spring long to reach. Colors so bright. They don’t wilt under pressure and they don’t crumble in harsh time. I wish I were an artificial flower. Maybe then happiness would bestow upon me. I would stay tall and strong. I would stay. Happiness would stay. Much like I wished you could’ve. Their petals stay crisp and recognizable; unless the heat of a flame devours them in a moment of madness. Much like the heat I feel in my heart and across my cheeks when I think about the times we had. But coldness soon covers my body when I realize I’ll never have another time like those with you. Ill never have you. I’ll never be an artificial flower. And as I sit running my fingers over the engravings in marble, I will forever wish I was running my fingers over the details of your face. And I will remember what it felt like to be strong.
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