It was the first Wednesday of November, people were rushing to places, visiting dead loved ones. raindrops were dramatically falling on the foggy window, and the bus smells like dead chrysanthemums and fragrant roses. Their dull faces stood there like creepy non-living mannequins.
I sat beside the window with the coffee brown curtains rolled up, hugging a bouquet of pretty yellow sunflowers, offering a glimpse of joy to anyone who sees it in this gloomy afternoon. It's odd to take happy flowers with you when everyone is mourning.
The rain hasn't stopped yet, crying like a ghost who had lost it's home. I walked under a crystal clear umbrella and entered the place, a place where a memory lies. Names were carved everywhere, not on graves but rather on trees and benches. I sat on the oldest looking bench, and placed the sunflower beside me. As I closed my eyes I could imagine you smiling at me, like kids left on a playground to play. You used to hand me sunflowers everyday.
Sunflowers, for the love that died.
YOU ARE READING
Things I Wish I Could Tell You (Poetry and Prose)
PoetryI look at you with empty eyes from across the crowdy room. I never spoke when I was with you, and for a long time I hid from that quiet disguise. Little did you know I cried under the rain, and I sang with our song. When I'm alone I think of you, I...
