The Sun and Her Flowers (2 page)

i stuffed a towel at the foot of every door

i told the air

i have no use for you

i drew every curtain in the house

i told the light

no one is coming in

and no one is going out


you left

and i wanted you still

yet i deserved someone

who was willing to stay

i spend days in bed debilitated by loss

i attempt to cry you back

but the water is done

and still you have not returned

i pinch my belly till it bleeds

have lost count of the days

sun becomes moon and

moon becomes sun and

i become ghost

a dozen different thoughts

tear through me each second

you must be on your way

perhaps it's best if you're not

i am okay

i am angry

i hate you

i can't move on
i will

i forgive you
i want to rip my hair out

over and over and over again

till my mind exhausts itself into a silence


the rain tried to imitate my hands

by running down your body

i ripped the sky apart for allowing it


in order to fall asleep

i have to imagine your body

crooked behind mine

spoon ladled into spoon

till i can hear your breath

i have to recite your name

till you answer and

we have a conversation

only then

can my mind

drift off to sleep


it isn't what we left behind

that breaks me

it's what we could've built

had we stayed

i can still see our construction hats lying

exactly where we left them

pylons unsure of what to guard

bulldozers gazing out for our return

the planks of wood stiff in their boxes

yearning to be nailed up

but neither of us goes back

to tell them it is over

in time

the bricks will grow tired of waiting and crumble

the cranes will droop their necks in sorrow

the shovels will rust

do you think flowers will grow here

when you and i are off

building something new

with someone else

the construction site of our future

i live for that first second in the morning

when i am still half-conscious

i hear the hummingbirds outside

flirting with the flowers

i hear the flowers giggling

and the bees growing jealous

when i turn over to wake you

it starts all over again

the panting

the wailing

the shock

of realizing

that you've left

the first mornings without you

the hummingbirds tell me

you've changed your hair

i tell them i don't care

while listening to them

describe every detail


i envy the winds

who still witness you

i could be anything

in the world

but i wanted to be his

i tried to leave many times but

as soon as i got away

my lungs buckled under the pressure

panting for air i'd return

perhaps this is why i let you

skin me to the bone


was better than nothing

having you touch me

even if it was not kind

was better than not having your hands at all

i could take the abuse

i could not take the absence

i knew i was beating a dead thing

but did it matter

if the thing was dead

when at the very least

i had it


you break women in like shoes

loving you was breathing

but that breath disappearing

before it filled my lungs

when it goes too soon

what love looks like

what does love look like
the therapist asks

one week after the breakup

and i'm not sure how to answer her question

except for the fact that i thought love
looked so much like you

that's when it hit me

and i realized how naive i had been

to place an idea so beautiful on the image of a person

as if anybody on this entire earth

could encompass all love represented

as if this emotion seven billion people tremble for

would look like a five foot eleven

medium-sized brown-skinned guy

who likes eating frozen pizza for breakfast

what does love look like
the therapist asks again

this time interrupting my thoughts midsentence

and at this point i'm about to get up

and walk right out the door

except i paid far too much money for this hour

so instead i take a piercing look at her

the way you look at someone

when you're about to hand it to them

lips pursed tightly preparing to launch into conversation

eyes digging deeply into theirs

searching for all the weak spots

they have hidden somewhere

hair being tucked behind the ears

as if you have to physically prepare for a conversation

on the philosophies or rather disappointments

of what love looks like

i tell her

i don't think love is him anymore

if love was him

he would be here wouldn't he

if he was the one for me

wouldn't he be the one sitting across from me

if love was him it would have been simple

i don't think love is him
i repeat

i think love never was

i think i just wanted something

was ready to give myself to something

i believed was bigger than myself

and when i saw someone
who could probably fit the part

i made it very much my intention

to make him my counterpart

and i lost myself to him

he took and he took

wrapped me in the word

until i was so convinced he had eyes only to see me

hands only to feel me

a body only to be with me

oh how he emptied me

how does that make you feel

interrupts the therapist

i said

it kind of makes me feel like shit

maybe we're all looking at it wrong

we think it's something to search for out there

something meant to crash into us

on our way out of an elevator

or slip into our chair at a cafe somewhere

appear at the end of an aisle at the bookstore

looking the right amount of sexy and intellectual

but i think love starts

everything else is just desire and projection

of all our wants needs and fantasies

but those externalities could never work out

if we didn't turn inward and learn

how to love ourselves in order to love other people

love does not look like a person

love is our actions

love is giving all we can

even if it's just the bigger slice of cake

love is understanding

we have the power to hurt one another

but we are going to do everything in our power

to make sure we don't

love is figuring out all the kind sweetness we deserve

and when someone shows up

saying they will provide it as you do

but their actions seem to break you
rather than build you

love is knowing whom to choose

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