The flowers you bought me are still sitting by the kitchen window. The dried petals and leaves falling onto the marbled counter top. I sit and stare at the sad, drooping flowers. I like to think that they are some sort of metaphor for us. We were beautiful in the beginning. We were bright, vibrant, and fun. We were full of love and hope. We made sure to water the flowers and give them sunlight, so they can thrive and grow. We did really well for a while, at least until you left.
The flowers began to die because I couldn’t bring myself to take care of them without you. I can’t seem to throw them out either, so I just sit and stare at them. I’m not entirely sure why. I think it’s because a part of me is hoping that if I sit and watch them, then maybe I’ll find answers, or at least a little bit of closure. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s a heartbreaking thing to feel like you’ll never understand what it is you did wrong. It’s a heartbreaking thing to know I was not good enough for an explanation, or that I didn’t deserve a reason.
I have always hated the word heartbreak. You break something and you can fix it, repair it, or tape it back up. If you shatter something, you can’t really do much with it except throw it away. There’s too many pieces; too much damage. Heartshatter. That’s what we should call it. That’s exactly what you did to me. You took my heart, threw it on the ground, stomped on it until it was shattered into a million, tiny pieces, and then left me to pick up your mess. I imagined myself falling to my knees in front of my now unbeating, defective heart trying to piece it back together so I can feel whole again, but it’s useless. Too many pieces; too much damage. All you can do is scoop up the mess and throw it in the trash.
I would love more than anything to be able to scoop up these dead flowers and throw them away, but I can’t seem to. It’s the last thing I have to know that you were real- that we were real. You packed up all of your clothes, your toothbrush, and all of the other little things that became a part of our home- my home. You took everything but the stupid flowers. I wonder if you thought about taking them, or if you planned to leave them because you knew it would halt my letting go of you.
I was told a relationship ending can register the same feelings as one has when a loved one passes away. I was also told I would go through the stages of grief- denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I thought it would go in a straight line, one after the other, but I was wrong. I somehow feel all five collectively. They have all leeched onto me like a parasite I cannot get rid of. I feel denial about the fact that you are actually gone and anger at the fact that you don’t seem to care. I find myself bargaining to the universe that I’ll change and be better, if only you walk through the front door with new flowers and a big, epic, rom-com worthy apology. I feel depressed every time I sit and stare at the sad, dead plant you gave me not even 2 weeks before you left. I even feel a little bit of acceptance. I accept the fact that you aren’t coming back. I accept the fact that I might not ever get the closure I want and deserve.
The weeks before you were gone, I can’t say I didn’t have the slightest feeling something was off. You did become distant. You were on your phone more and you smiled a lot less. I didn’t read too much into it because you got me flowers. I mean who would buy you flowers if they didn’t love or care for you anymore? I find myself second guessing myself and wishing I did more towards the end. Maybe I could have saved us. Maybe I could have saved myself from the heart shattering loss of someone who is still alive, but they just don’t want to be around you anymore. All of the maybes in the world doesn’t matter because in the end I’m still here staring at these stupid, dead flowers.
I did the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a while. I picked up the blue, ceramic vase and took it over to the sink. I tilted it until the dirty water dripped out and slipped down the drain. I walked over to the trashcan and I dumped the stupid flowers in. I wanted to cry as I watched them plummet into the bag. I didn’t cry though because I know it had to be done. I know it’s time to let you go- to let us go. I’ve accepted that I will never get closure from you and that I no longer need it. The best closure, I’ve learned, comes from within yourself. We didn’t work out because we weren’t growing in the same way. We weren’t getting enough sunlight or water, so we started to become brittle and dry. We just weren’t meant to be. I hate the way you left, but I no longer want you in my life. I want peace, love, and I want flowers that mean something.
I’m driving back home from the flower store, my new flower filled vase resting in the passenger seat. I walk inside and place them on the marbled counter top by the kitchen window. They are bright, vibrant, and fun. They are full of love and hope. I like to think that they are a metaphor for me. I will make sure they have enough sunlight and that they are watered. I sit and stare at the new addition and I feel nothing but peace and love because for the first time, I can sit and stare at a vase of flowers and know that it means something- a fresh start.
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You ended on hope. I really like that. You also captured the feeling of despair so completely it made me feel as if it was a true story. That's impressive. Great job. Keep writing.
I can't tell you how much I appreciated and needed this comment. Thank you so much for reading and for the feedback!