Flowers On A Cross Remain

🖤 Against All Odds 💙

Nothing, yet everything... it was all happening. Right now, right then... the devastation could not have been more razing.

The news of it had left a collective hollow, gutting feeling in the chests of all who heard. The right combination of senses and circumstance, and the memory of it could bring a grown man to his knees.

Why did it happen? In this day and age, there seemed no reason. No real reason, anyways...

... but it's like they say, I suppose: 'an addict is always looking for an excuse to use.' And her death sent him into a spiral. Why wouldn't it have?

She meant the world to him for so long. She was there for him when he was down and out, when he had nothing but his name and the clothes on his back.

She was her own woman, and he was his own man. Seedlings, they were, trying to grow from the same pot. As they grew, though, their respective leaves turned to face new lights, and their roots tangled and grappled for space.

It just couldn't be done any more, or one would suffocate.

They never ceased to love each other, though. They'd been through so much, and even though on-and-off, their history was extensive. They may have spent more time apart than they ever were together, but like sister galaxies, they spun and circled each other, nearly meeting but never colliding. Gravity held them still like that.

Maybe they'd been two close souls in another life. Maybe they had both been aliens sent down from the same ship. Maybe that's why, when she died, he lost himself, and anxiously waited to return home, too. Everyone found that to be their conclusion.

An addict always looks for an excuse to use... maybe that's why they were unable to separate from each other. Heroin was an unfortunate bond they did have, in the end... and it ended up destroying them both.

One has to wonder... if heroin hadn't been involved, would they have stayed together? Would they have realized the level of toxicity between them and parted? Would they still be alive?

Two young, promising souls... gone.

Neither wanted to live a white-bread life, especially not her... but settling down was something he had craved, and certainly felt he needed in his later years.
There was no telling what exactly she wanted, though... she preferred being on the move, focusing on her passions and the art with which she was so enthralled.

It wasn't a waste... the lives they lived were, well, full of life. They were loving, caring, generous people, beloved by all they came across. They both passed well before their time... what is one's time supposed to be, though?

That's a question only 'the spaceship' floating above us can answer.

There should be, at the very least, some small set of answers for loved ones left behind. Death is so permanent... never being able to hug, hold hands, or meet eyes with a person ever again is a truly haunting thought. For so many, too many, it's a constant thought at the forefront of their minds...

Everyone dies.

Everyone loses people. And it will happen to you. No one is immune to death's touch.

A twisted idea could be that the more grief you experience, the more love you've experienced throughout your life... as it would be even more twisted never to experience grief over a loved one, for that would mean never having loved at all- unless, of course, you're lucky enough to die young, unscathed by the losses of grandparents, parents, spouses and partners, aunts, uncles, friends, siblings, cousins, even acquaintances, or your celebrity role model.

The human experience is so expansive and undefinable. No one can ever truly know what is going on in a person's head. No one.
Every life is different. Everyone lives their own life according to their own set of preferences or beliefs... you can't force your way of thinking on someone else, never.