Phoenix of Black Flames (darkphoenix9) wrote in thewritemood,
Phoenix of Black Flames

The Flower

This morning, I woke up, and I saw that flower on my bedpost. And I remembered back... how long ago was it? I'm so bad with time, with remembering, you know that. I remembered back when you gave me that flower. You had let go of my hand and picked it on the edge of whatever path or road we were on and you made me carry it all the way back. Not that I really minded much... actually I can remember getting a big kick out of putting it behind my ear like a pen or pencil, but you didn't seem to find it as funny as I did. And I remember later when we were lying in my bed, you pressing down on top of me with your gentle warmth running along my body and your legs intertwined with mine, you discovered it there on my ear and took it out and stretched up to begin weaving it around the top of my bedpost. And I remember taking advantage of your position, running my hands carefully under the soft folds of your shirt, running along the boundaries formed by your bra, taking all that I was to not leap over them, but still sending you those kind of tickling chills that raise the bumps along your skin and make you pull away but never far enough away that you weren't begging for more. And you did pull away and laugh like you did so much then, and it always seemed like the laugh meant something more, that there was a tension struggling desperately to be released there, and you would pull away and laugh, but I would come after you, always after you, building it right back up, running along those lines, finding openings and not taking them, making you beg for that which in desperation you would then beg to release.

And the flower stayed there and looked on, looked on as we tumbled and wrestled and fought together in those delicate dances of love and tension. It looked on me in later nights where I would think of you and smile and sleep to dream you. It looked on me in later nights still, spent restless with a tearstained pillowcase and wet sheets. It looked on in the cold nights after those, the quiet nights, the somber ones. And this morning I woke up, and I saw that flower on my bedpost. And I remembered what it meant so very long ago, or what seemed like so very long ago, remembered why it was there and who it was. I remembered how its entire life was changed that day you picked it out of its little forest and I wore it home and you threaded it around my bedpost. And as I looked at the flower, I realized it had wilted a long time ago. It had died clinging there with its stem knotted around the post and slowly its colors had faded, but I had never noticed. So I reached up and tried to take it off, tried to unthread it, but it had dried to a tough yellow stem, cracking but stubborn. And it took me a good little while to get it off from there, pushing and pulling, trying to take out the knot but finding it impossible. In death it had become more solid there, like a fossil of a giant beast finally falling to something greater than itself and hardening in death, hardening to a solid stone forever changed from the living bones, and marrow, and skin. And finally, after I gave it so much attention, after I pushed and pulled it and picked it at, I wore its stubbornness down, and it fell all to pieces. Like not one single part of the stem, but the entire flower had given up all at the same time and it fell to so many pieces off the post, yellowed flakes of stem and petals falling silently down, down. And I got up and cleaned them up as best I could, vacuuming and sweeping till I thought all the little pieces were gone. But I never could get them all. And some nights I can still feel a couple of them poking into my legs, or sometimes in my navel in the morning, and sometimes even at the top of my ear where that flower had rested so long ago, or what seemed like so long ago. And some nights, they pick and poke at me and I can't sleep with them there and I'm restless again. But most nights, and more and more so, I just brush them off and go back to sleep.
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