I wanted to write for you. To create a universe we could explore together but your brown eyes hid behind falling eye lids. I can’t keep you awake long enough to dream with me. So I dream about her.
I know what it is like to be a flower. Truth is i’m afraid of growth. I’m afraid i’ll wake up with thorns for fingers. They say the only constant is change and I have been dreaming about aliens again. My fruits have become poisonous mushrooms, perhaps that is the reason why you do not long to taste me. Where I am is not your Eden. I am not the one that gives you something sweet to sink your teeth into. That’s okay, she is a lazy sunset and I am the starry sky in a city with too many lights. Take your time, admire the way her colours blend into each other. the way she comes and goes. Her flowers were planted in God’s womb, watch them bloom.
Tell me about her, tell me about the things you do together, the walks you take, the conversations you have… The decisions you have made together knowingly and unknowingly. The things about her that you like? maybe..
maybe I want to hear it all. I want to know about the things that make you happy.
Let us make it an inside joke to tell our kids one day. “Tell them about the time you fell in love with the reincarnated Angel.”
We’ll laugh about it, i’m sure, your belly will grow warm with fond memories as you gather them around you and tell them about how I was always running away to different planets and all you wanted was someone to hold so God sent magic with arms enough to hold, ears enough to listen and lips enough to kiss your heartache away.
Later that evening, as I water the plants in our garden I will listen to their stories and remember that I know what it is like to be a flower.
Instead of our kids, you’ll tell your kids how you once loved a flower. How magical your hands were because you could make me bloom at will. I’m waiting for the next full moon. Another chance to see you again.
I hope you welcome me with open arms.