SMALL TALKS

sunflowers.

Across the street, a busy cross section in New York, I saw him.

I watched him look both ways to ensure a car didn't come pirouetting towards him, knocking him out of existence of this atypical world.

And I found an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach. Something like jelly.

For I hadn't seen him in a year or two.

And there was once a time when my heart had yearned so badly for the boy with the sunflower coloured hair and eyes that contained the same depths of the ocean.

But not anymore.

I remembered all his little quirks and peculiar traits, and how I'd fell in love with them all. Especially the way he laughed, with his mouth wide open, turned right up at the corners, showing off perfect teeth, head tossed back, flower-like hair astray.

But, honestly?

I couldn't remember why I'd fell in love with them. Or what it felt like.

Not anymore.

So instead of calling out the name of the boy that had once tasted like a bitter sweet symphony on my tongue, I watched him cross the road, walking further and further away from me with each heavy step.

Knowing full well that this was probably the final time I'd see him.

And as I watched his hair swaying gently in the harsh wind of the winter, I knew that I'd never be able to look at sunflowers the same again.

- excerpts of a story i'll never write.