daisy buchannon

the flowers are dead.

the flowers died along with your relationship. they withered and they crumbled as his voice grew distant and his patience grew thin. he no longer wants you. the flowers no longer want to live.

the daises were white. free. oblivious to beauty they brought to the world.  your love was red. powerful. as passionate as two sweaty teenagers fumbling around in the back seat of a car for the first time. when simply your thoughts of each other were strong enough to fog up the windows. your promises rolling off his tongue, his hands grasped the back of your head, your hearts beating in unity: because your souls merged into one. he became apart of you. you needed him to be stable, the way flowers need soil to grow. while you were connected to someone permanently you’ve never felt more  free; more oblivious to the world around you. you have never felt more like the daises.

the flowers did not die peacefully. they withered slowly and painfully. their stems sunk in with your cheeks, they lost their shine like he lost the light in his eyes when someone said your name, the petals could no longer hold on in the breeze of the slamming doors or you running away from each other problems. the soil dried up and all the tears you shed over him couldn’t return it to its rich state. you stopped appreciating the daises, you stopped asking him about his day, he stopped telling you good morning. as the daisies went grey your love went black. the damage was irreparable. the color was lost.

as the flowers grew weaker you attempted to save them. your tried to dig them up and replant them, you begged him to come lay in your bed and forget about the fighting. forget about the other girl. you tried to talk the flowers into holding on, you tried to remind him what he first saw in you. but you had ditched the soil that you grew together in, in a final attempt to save the wreckage. he was already gone and the flowers could not reestablish their roots.

how did you let something as simple and brilliant as love slip through your fingers? how did you manage to ruin the only person strong enough to attempt to rebuild the ruins that have been collecting dust inside you? how did you run off the sunshine bringing you the nutrients you needed to grow? why didn’t you try to water his love before it was too late? why are you still attempting to dig up your past lover? when will you understand that no matter how hard you try, his seeds will no longer grow for you? that his seeds are no longer yours to plant?

i dont know. i just know the flowers are dead.