Secrets with the Moon || keaton stromberg

Four

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Only earlier today I had promised myself that I wouldn't cry over him anymore, but at the sound of his name, everything crashed. They didn't crash like a pathetic house of cards, it's like my body flung itself off the Empire State Building. All the secrets that I kept to myself and the night were resurfacing at midday. I had no time for this kind of pain. My life flashed before my eyes, and not the good kind where you see a lifetime of all the things you love in a span of a second; the kind where a second's worth of love takes a lifetime to pass before your eyes. I felt like I was always dying, he was all I saw for an enternity, and everyday I waited for that suicide jump or that car crash to end the flashback.

It never came.

And now I don't think it ever will.

The feeling I used to get in the pit of my stomach is now the feeling I get all over my body. Him coming back is like a punch in the stomach that feels like a punch in the face.

I spent the next two days cleaning myself up and planting more plants in the small garden. Eventually the plants on the outisde of the forest weren't enough, so I began taking treks deeper into the thickness of evergreens. Some part of me had to keep the garden going, it was a form of therapy for me. If keeping this garden going meant not seeing him again in my thoughts, then I was willing to take all the risks for it to be successful.

The birds serande each other, their Saturday morning song livening up the forest. While I walk deeper into the woods, I begin to wonder about my future. My mind drifts to the future all the time, but instead of drifting to whether or not Keaton will be in my life, it drifts to if I'll be in anyone else's life. What job will I have in ten years? Will I still live in Washington? Will I be married? The thoughts cloud my mind for a half hour, and soon enough, the pot and shovel in my hand become difficult to bear.

My focus drifts back to the reality of the present, and I find myself in a different part of the forest. It's only slightly colder, the canopy of the tree branches above shielding the ground below from the dangerous rays of the sun. Somehow, my eyes land on a natural phenomenae, a lone Avalanche Lily. I drop my shovel immediately, my knees hitting the ground beside it directly after. The bloom for the spectacular white flower is between June and August, which is right now, but it only blooms around melting snow, thus the name Avalanche Lily. Except there is no snow in the area.

My mind demands me to let the flower be, the conditions for it's growth better here than in the direct sunlight of my garden. But there's a kind of hope in my heart that dictates my actions, and next thing I know, the beautiful lily is in my small plastic planting pot.

I know that after a few days the plant will die from the overwhelming amount of sunlight alone, yet, I walk back toward the direction of my house with the plant in hand. The dark lighting and the smell of evergreens slowly fades as I make my way back home quicker than when I left it.

From looking at the height of the sun, I determine it's aproximately midday. For some reason, when I look at the white lily in my hand, I think about a happy future, one where I'm successful, living in New York, a change of scenery. People there aren't there just to be there, everyone there has a passion, they have a place, even if they're the hobo on the street, they have a sense of belonging and partenership to their state. Washington is a vat of bad memories and sadness for me, it's also my home, but I think I should find another one. Who knows, maybe New York could be my home one day?

Although I love the woods, I haven't been anywhere else, what if I end up loving bright city lights that blind your eyes? What if I end up loving the bustling sound of people? What if I actually love girls? That would be a change now wouldn't it? I shake my head, ridding my brain cells from the ridiculous thought of me switching teams.