on the flowers he chose.

nearly seven months have gone by, i am still writing about you. not one day has passed, since that first lunch, in which you don't flood my thoughts. those are the best of days, the moments where what seems to be very little happenings measure into a hysteria of my memories of you. then there are those moments where i wish with all the power a human being can muster up, i had the courage to do more, to say more. it seems i often find myself torn in regret of how much i lack, but with you i gained so much that one could even say there were moments of fierce bravery. though it may take great courage to love, i was made so much stronger in realizing how much i don't deserve. this confirmation served to point me closer to the only one who has ever loved me wholly, perfectly. but in the midst of all this understanding, or rather lack thereof, i have one memory which replays ever so endlessly. it is of the flowers you picked for me. the first time, as we walked through tall grass, you picking dandelions and placing them ever-so-gently in the palm of my hand. the second, walking up to you as you place a pink lily in the crevice of my ear. the third and last time is of you pulling out a single red rose from behind your back.

third times the charm, they say. these three flashbacks have one commonality: you chose each flower for me.  the very thought of you making a choice with me in mind is enough. enough to silence the regrets, welcoming the haze of phantasmagoria i so often escape into ever since that first lunch.

and it was the beginning and the end of me, that lunch.

photo here