where the flowers die

written in 2009

Sometimes I think I feel so much I couldn’t possibly find somebody to match it. I’ve never met someone I couldn’t understand or been placed in a situation I couldn’t make sense of. I think the reason I’m drawn to artificial stimulation is because its one of the only times I know that what I’m feeling everybody else is feeling too. I don’t want to say it makes me feel human because saying I sometimes feel human implies, at times, I also feel divine…and I don’t. I just feel connected. There is a cycle I’ve noticed in my life. A series of relationships that completely consume me, nearly empty me, and almost always leaving me wanting something I cannot have. So I move on. I move on to a new set of eyes, and new strand of humor, a new soundtrack to the endless pursuit of love. My idea of love …or the universes’ way of showing me I am not made for love. Not movie love. Not the kind of love that belongs to me and me alone. The kind of love that acts like sunlight to the flowers I’m so desperately drawn to. It will make you bud, blossom and grow and you will leave it hanging in the sky in all its glory. I wonder how it feels to be a flower that has all of the sun’s attention. Even if it’s just for a moment. What words would they use to describe it? It wouldn’t be hot, because I’ve never seen you sweat. It wouldn’t be scary, because I’ve never made you run. It wouldn’t be perfect because if it was perfect I wouldn’t be the sun. I would be a star, your star that fell down from the sky just for you to hold. How can something be so active in creating life and influencing growth but still so unbelievably far away that to thank it could only ever be with a smile or a glance in its direction? And even if one brave soul dared come close enough to thank the sun with a touch…a kiss…an embrace…they would be no more. They would burn. They would be ash. They would eventually become part of the earth and through default become part of a new cycle. A new fucking flower. How many flowers does it take to make a man a tree? How many trees does it take to make a man a building? How many buildings does it take to make a man a city? And how many cities does it take until you’ve convinced him he’s a god?
The glory of the sun isn’t glorious at all. It’s a never ending duty to maintain what’s beneath you….but…
In another world…
With a bigger sky…
I imagine there are two suns.
And that, I believe, is where the flowers die.

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