There used to be a present while sunflowers were still wanted and considered beautiful.
But what happened to her, mom?
When did her leaves become brown, why did she have to die?
I guess she sang me a song that day, drew me a picture in the sand.



Just to show me how nothing ever lasts.




I used to dig for something under a starry sky.
Knowing that the light from distant stars wouldn’t get me that far.
I guess I liked wasting time; it’s what I do often these days.
Like counting the leaves on dead Sunflowers.



Just so I can remain in the past.




I used to push the spacebar more often, wishing it were me that was falling apart.
Instead of the words that so often appear on the blank screen.
I gave her nothing that day as I purposely watched her die in my arms.
She took her last breath, I’m sure.




As I took a deep one, I never said goodbye.




&.



It’s days like this where you wonder if you could even say goodbye.
If your lips would remember how to speak.
Or if the sharpie next to the tree that said your names would have to succumb to a fair parting.
And I think you printed my insides those last days with flowered stamps.



And all I wanted at the moment was to look inside, and count the days until my leaves turned brown.




But it’s May now.
And I still look outside for the Sunflowers that died years ago.
I never could bury them, I watched them rot, wither and crumble to nothing.
Much like I watch myself do everyday in a perfected mirror of honesty.




And I look back on yellows.
While you always wished for Marigolds.
And there I sat in the garden planting something for tomorrow.
While you so easily sat in yesterday.



Just because the reality of something so easily clashed wasn’t meant to be lived.




And I touched your bones today.
Touched the tears you cried in your room at times.
While you colored oranges of a future.
While I stared at her yellows from a past.






Through a field of Sunflowers, mom. I never failed to see the
Marigolds.