a bouquet of roses

The smoke diffuses in the clear air, the ground damp from yesterday’s rain. Some faces have decipherable expressions — joy, sorrow, despair, cruelty, kindness. Some faces are like mine — with an unclarity so evident that it scares the bravest souls. I can’t even look at the pavement the same now. It’s scary how often I imagine the bouquet scattered on the damp cement, the wilted roses just a reminder of how broken I can be. The pink parchment not holding them together anymore as they get trampled on, their story a lost symbol of their lost fragrance. 

Was I that bouquet to those I loved once? Held to their chests when I’m significant, yet thrown to the ground when I don’t make sense anymore? My soul lays scattered in a thousand shards now. You can’t gather me without scarring yourself. You can’t fix me without being broken yourself. 

I don’t want to break you; not when you dare to glue me back together.

Careful as you walk over my pieces, they are sharp enough to cut you. Would you throw a look towards me as you walk by? Will my story entice you as the roses enticed me? Would you care enough to wonder about me?

My thoughts trick me into believing my lie. I am not that bouquet now, am I? I don’t beg for attention with the wilts on my petals; I don’t cry for help. I certainly can’t be so broken that strangers pity me. How absurd would that be? How absurd would it be if I got my heart broken by every person I ever called home? Would anyone even believe me if I said that?

How absurd.

Lay those flowers gently as they lose their purpose. Bury them in the ground that would embrace them as warmly as they deserve. They showed you love for as long as they could. Maybe you don’t have the energy to hold them to your chest as they wilt away, but they gave their best to you.

I gave my best to you.

I come back to my senses as I feel a tear dry on my cheek. The air is cold and unforgiving, but I deserve that. The cold. The cruelty. What have I done to deserve any better? 

But, won’t you be gentle with me? Hold me to your chest even as I wilt away?

Certainly not, I hear.

Of course. I don’t expect any better. I don’t deserve —