Wild Flowers

Every moment with him, I was mesmerized. All I could do was stare at him, as if he was a statue in an art museum. All details perfectly made, a structured nose, deep brown eyes like a does, lips like cupids bow. Every single word that came from that mouth of his, sound better than any song I’ve ever listened to, more poetic than any poem I’ve ever read. Poetic. That would be the word I would choose, if I had to describe him in just one word. Poetic in both ways; physical and spiritual.

My best memory, the very last memory, the moment I re-live insinde my brain all the time, I am going to tell you that right now.

It was a rather cold afternoon with slight rain. I remember the raindrops shining on his hair. He loved that. Getting wet under the rain. He held my hand and told me “We are going somewhere as pretty as you.” I never understood what he saw in me. Never will. And yet I never told him that. I never wanted him to think about that. What if he thought about it? What if he decided that I wasn’t good enough? I couldn’t imagine a life without him, never have.

We kept on walking. The rain was getting faster but he didn’t seem to care. We were walking on a path, away from the main road, into the forest. He was talking about some bird, a blue bird with greenish wings, about it being free. I cannot remember these kind of things. But I perfectly remember the warmth of his hand, holding mine, the shine of his eyes, the mischievious smile he had. Those are the things I wanted to remember the most, I cared about the most. That he was happy, smiling. Having his hand holding mine. I was never the first one to let go. And he would hold it as long as he could.

As we kept on walking, the voices of the city vanished. That was when we stopped. “Look, love.” he said. So did I.

We were surrounded by thousands of flowers, all different from each other. There were ones with big yellow petals, ones with tiny pink petals. All kinds of wild flowers. He was ecstatic. He let my hand go and sat near the flowers as graceful as him and smiled. I was looking at him, I remember, just staring at him. “You do this way to much, love. Stop looking at me like I’m something that doesn’t belong here.” That was the opposite than what I was doing. He did really belong there. I did what he said a lot, looking him like he didn’t belong to our world, to normal humans world. However there, he belonged. After memorizing every single detail, the colour of his wet shirt, the angle of his legs as he sat, the freckles he had, and that half smile, I sat right next to him. He lended the smallest, the most innocent kiss on my cheek and whispered to my hair, softly “After death, pure souls come back as wild flowers.” He picked one put it in my hair. “Beautiful. But the thing is, one flower you detach, one you should give back.”

His was the purest I’ve ever got to know.

Tui