Silent Screams

Free Write 7

In the end though, it's always about her. When we're over, they'll ask if I was before or after your perfect flower. They'll laugh as they notice how I am compared to her,  similar in certain aspects, but not quite as good. Unlike her, I won't give myself to you. Unlike her, I won't let someone else ruin us. Oh god no, I'll be the one to do it. If we are going to burn, I'd like to light the flame that scalds my hands. I'll play with the fire before it catches, seeing how long I can take the pain before I burn away everything I love about us, leaving nothing but charred remains.  And then the time will come when spring rolls in, and your perfect flower will emerge again. My time is the winter. Everything is dying, and yet people are foolish enough to find beauty in that time of year. I am the icy wind that nips your hands and cracks them. The winter and I are one in the same, because even in all the death, we still emerge again and again. There's a lot of tears, and when there isn't, it's easy for something to catch fire. It's easy for something to burn so easily while we all watch, thinking of the beauty in the natural fury of it all. We fail to remember that something is dying right before our eyes because we're fascinated with the beautiful that everything is burning and falling apart. And that is what I've been doing, burning, falling apart. But everyone gathers and finds the dark beauty in my misery rather than focusing on the fact that I'm dying. Because they know, when spring comes around, another flower will pop up and please them all.