Violets and Daffodils

Yesterday, I saw a patch of daffodils. They made me want to scream. To rip my hair out and cry, grief making me all the more dramatic. You got me daffodils, remember? Every Valentines Day. You thought roses were too cliche. I would laugh and smile each time I saw you with a bouquet of them. You would say they reminded you of me. Bright, happy, unique. You made me feel beautiful and special. That's what you did. You brought out the good in the world.

I didn't speak for the rest of the day. An overreaction? Yes. But when I saw them, all I could think about was you. About your kisses, your hugs, your caresses. Your rough hands and huge smile. Your interesting insights, how you could tell exactly what I was thinking. The way you could make me laugh like no one else, the way you could draw a smile from me on my darkest days. The way I almost died when you left me.

Then, I saw a violet today. It was a hundred times worse.

I was walking home, same way as always. You know the route, past your Aunt Tilly's house, which is still a hideous pink by the way, cutting through the little park that looks it's best in the winter, when icicles hang beautifully and the snow looks like it has a million diamonds embedded in it. I was going past the cookie-cutter houses when I noticed one that stood out.

At first, I didn't know why it caught my eye. I stared at it for a moment, frozen in place, wondering why I cared. When it finally hit me, I ran home, hand over my mouth, choking back sobs.

When I finally reached my house, tears where streaming down my face. Mom was in the kitchen. She turned and looked at me, but, before she could open her mouth, I ran upstairs and locked myself in my room, sinking down to the ground.

Someone had planted some violets outside their home. They were the same dark-blue shade of your eyes.

Why? I screamed in my mind, but I didn't know which question I was asking, or any of the answers. Why did you leave me? Why did a few flowers set me off like this? Why do I still ache like this after three years?

No one responded.

I didn't come down for the rest of the night, even when Mom knocked gently, when Dad unsuccessfully tried to ask me what happened (as awkwardly as normal), and sweet Tia timidly told me to get better. But their words didn't reach me. I might as well been with you, for all the good they did.

I knew you would've scolded me, berated me, teased me, and begged me till I came out. You would've done anything to get me out of my room and feeling better. But you weren't there, where you?

No. You weren't.

I blame you. I shouldn't, but I do. I need someone to blame. For a long time, I blamed myself. Then I blamed James, which wasn't fair in the least. Now, I blame you. I'm not angry at you though. The anger faded a long time ago. Now I'm just...empty. Not entirely. I notice the world, which I didn't used to do, but it seems to fly by. Nothing interesting without you.

In summary, I forgive you for dying, but I still think it's your fault.

Those violets. They keep creeping back into my mind. Blue, like the sky fifteen minutes after the sun has set and no orange can be seen anywhere on the horizen. Dark and clear and deep. Just like your eyes. Just like you.

Violets and daffodils. An odd combination, just like you and me.

But I don't think I'm a daffodil anymore. Or if I am, I'm wilted. Gray. Certainly not bright. I think to be bright, you have to see color in the world. Without you, the world seems to be leached of all color. Drained.

Yet it's been getting better. I've been getting better. Wilted, but regrowing. Gaining some of my life back. Seeing more and more colors each day.

I've been wonder what flower would go with the day you died. Morbid, yes, but it seems to fit in with the theme of things. I remember that it contrasted greatly with the tragedy that happened. It was in winter, a beautiful day. It had snowed the night before and the sun was shining brightly, making the white powder sparkle. A gorgeous day, but dangerous.

Maybe a white rose?

Yes, a white rose. A violet stands no chance against a rose. Violets don't have thorns. Violets are delicate, much less sturdy than a rose.

The daffodil called the violet. She would regret it for the rest of her days. The daffodil was lonely. But the call wasn't worth it. The violet would be right over. Regrettably. The violet brought his little brother, a baby.

James, a baby, new to the world and all of it's awfullness, distracted the violet. The violet touched a thorn, the violet slipped on the ice, the violet was gone. An ambulance arrived quickly, saved the baby, but the violet died before they arrived. Not their fault. Not James' fault.

But the daffodil withered the minute the violet left this world.

Tyler, I miss you. I miss your smile, your warmth, your eyes. I miss your laugh, so loud, loud enough to make me jump each time you bellowed at the littlest things.

Your daffodil, your flower, is better. This has helped. This letter, remembering and writing and feeling all of this again. I wanted to forget, but forgetting doesn't solve anything. Pretending it never happened is useless, because it did happen and there is no changing it. But I know now I can let go of some of this grief that's been weighing on me for too long.

Goodbye Tyler. I hope I can see you again soon. But not too soon, okay?

Sincerely,

Amelia