this is a rewritten version of a story my mom used to tell me when i was a kid. it's not exactly a John Green tumblr worthy quote, but it still means a lot to me, and i remember it every day, and i thought y'all would like it too. there's a poem afterwards, but it sorta sucks.
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"There was a man once who believed that everything would last forever, and if it didn't, it just wasn't meant to be. Every morning, he would make himself a cup of tea and admire the flowers in his windowsill from the seat of his favorite yellow chair. When he ran out of milk, he drank his tea black. When he ran out of sugar, he drank his tea bitter, and when he ran out of tea, he had water instead. When his flowers died, he just stared out of the window at the neighbour's wall, and when his favorite yellow chair eventually fell apart, he simply sat on the floor. He died like that. He'd lived a bitter life and died believing that happiness just wasn't meant for him. But that's not the truth. The cold, hard truth is that nothing lasts forever unless you make it stay."
there was a man
who always wore striped pyjamas
and a little blue hat
who sat every morning on his favorite yellow chair
everyday, just like that.
he'd make himself
a cup of tea with milk
and one spoon of sugar
never two
every single day, it's what
he'd do.
and then he'd sit
on his favorite yellow chair,
in the corner by the window
and he'd watch the flowers grow
in his window sill,
everyday, just like so.
and when the milk ran out,
instead of buying another carton,
he had his tea black,
though the taste was strange,
and had it like that every day,
it never changed.
and when the sugar ran out too,
instead of doing what we'd do,
this old man sat in his yellow chair
with a blue hat on his hair
and a cup of bitter tea in his hand
sipping quietly as he watched
the flowers wilting in the sand.
and when the tea would run out also,
he'd have water instead,
telling himself it was better for his health,
and though he never liked
the way it went,
down his throat,
he never sent
for another pack of tea.
and when the flowers wilted
as he always knew they would
he never planted them again
though he could
have, instead he sat in his yellow chair
and watched the dust collect
on the side of his neighbours house.
and when his favorite yellow chair
finally fell apart
and his pyjamas had worn a hole
in the space
below his heart,
he sat on the floor instead
with his mug of flavorless tea,
and cried
that his world had gone away
and he died
that very day,
believing that everything happened for a reason.
and though he lived a bitter life
with no kids,
no more tea,
and no wife,
and nobody to help him buy a new
yellow chair,
he left behind a moral to us all,
reminded us to never fall,
for the falsehood that claims
it wasn't meant to be,
for though some things should truly end,
they don't always have to,
like his favorite cup of tea,
or his yellow chair.
so don't believe that man,
the truth is nothing lasts forever
unless you make it so,
because milk runs out
and flowers don't grow,
without water.
love is not a miracle,
it's a working progress
that never ends.
life is like that too,
so don't watch it all disappear
claim your own life,
because it's not going to wait
for you.
YOU ARE READING
Where Poems Come to Die
Poetryjust the little things that float into my head when i should probably be asleep.