Whisps Of Begonia

I feel like I dying star.

A faint pulse is the only thing keeping this cold flesh moving,

but wouldn’t it be better to stop fighting the inevitable?

19 years of irreversible damage,

leave me to my misery. Please, let me die.

-begonia

And you told me about your girlfriend,

so I smiled a little and let out a slight, “Oh.”

And maybe I was relieved that I wouldn’t

have to expect anything to happen.

And maybe I was a little hurt,

that even now, love continues passing me by.

-begonia

When I inevitably die,

painstakingly slow and alone,

I hope that my funeral is filled with happiness and laughter.

I hope the guests feel the agonizing irony in

how little of a difference it made when I was gone.

To know that I’d be “missed”, but not as friend,

as a scapegoat.

No one wears the blame and shame as comedically and convincingly as I.

I will not be missed,

inevitably when I die.

-begonia

I wish I could recreate the way your embrace felt by myself. It’s a bit too cold and empty without your arms wrapped around me. I really wish they could’ve stayed.

-begonia

I wish you would hold me closer.

Squeeze me tightly, like you did before. Chase my eyes, and find me again.

Maybe we are but a fleeting moment, but I want nothing more than to be held by you for just a bit longer.

I do not think you love me. But I wish you did.

-begonia

My final act of love will be

dooming myself to continue watching you do what you love;

watching other people make you smile;

keeping my distance from you;

and never speaking to you again.

It hurts. I never got a proper goodbye,

not even one last kiss.

-begonia

And in my dreams I was the girl again,

Long hair, glowing skin,

Happier than ever to be with you.

But it quickly dissolved into the rage and turmoil

Of my current self.

You told me that at any moment I could’ve told you that I missed you,

At any moment I could’ve pursued,

But I chose not to.

And I yelled. I screamed, I hugged you and clung to you while screaming.

I’m so tired of chasing, I don’t want to anymore. You’re the one who left.

Why should I be the one to chase again?

My face was warm, and my throat was sore.

Because I was tired of begging for people to love,

Or to care,

Or to see that I’m here.

I am tired of being nice,

And now kindness makes me tired.

Now I am angry,

And I don’t know where to put it.

-begonia

I remember every bracelet I got you.

The first two were matching: you had blue and I had red. You broke yours during our first kiss, so I gave you mine.

Then I got a matching set: I gave you the white set, I had the black bracelet. Luckily for me, I lost mine. But the two halves made a full heart.

I got you two purple bracelets, one with a tiny dragon; then there was one with marbles, and another with stripes. I had to show you how to wear them.

Little trinkets. Just to show you that I loved you.

And it still meant nothing.

-begonia

I want to be held.

I miss the warmth on my hand. I miss burying my head into someone’s chest, staying there and being safe for a few hours. I miss finding the smell of someone that was always functionally safe; my third home; who would kiss me and rub my shoulders carefully.

I miss being sat on someone’s lap in a blanket. Arms wrapped around me, and oh so warm. A smile, kisses. Sneaking t-shirts in my car so I could fall asleep with a piece of you.

My peace. Willingly robbed from me. And now my body protests.

I want to be held, but I am afraid. What if I am held, and I keep wishing it was you? What if I am held, and those same hands push me away without saying goodbye? What if they hate me in an unforgivable sense, the way you hate me?

How can you hold onto your hatred

more than you held onto me?

-begonia

Somehow, I am still not free from your clutches.

Today, your name came up in a conversation. My parents saw you and your mom at a restaurant, a particular breakfast spot that I had introduced you to.

You saw their car, and you ran away.

Classic you. Running away. And maybe you were afraid that I was there too. Though, I honestly wasn’t. And even if I had been, you would not have gotten what you were looking for.

You can run all you want, but I am no longer chasing you.

I refuse to pursue without being pursued: I am not a predator. So I would rather you stay away.

-begonia

Am I not lovable?

With a soul too old yet a body too young, am I not lovable? Can you not love me when you witness the enraged, animalistic anger that festers inside of me? When the child inside of my body is released, hugging her knees and bowing her head?

Is it the therapy? Is it the sudden losses of control that cause me to spin out? Because I never wanted this to be me. I just wanted to be loved.

But now I am a storm, and I am afraid.

-begonia

I called someone I never thought I’d call again.

And the way he said my name made me melt. I couldn’t stop smiling, hanging onto every word that he said. He seemed surprised, but I was really happy. Happy that we’d called. Sorry that I’d worried him. Missing our light banter as soon as he left.

Am I allowed to call you more often? I’d asked.

You chuckled warmly, slight warning in your tone. “You have to be clear with your intentions and your wording.”

And I knew you were teasing. But I still got flustered and stumbled over my words. And you said yes, but asked that I text in advance. I understood: you were busy. But speaking with you…I did not get butterflies, I got energy. I got youth. I missed you. More than I knew.

All this reminded me that I am full and capable of love. Even after my heart was broken.

One day, I can love again.

-begonia

Strelitza

People wonder why I believe in a Higher Power.

And yes it is understandable. “Look at all the death, look at all the destruction!” They cry. How could I justify it? How could I condone it?

I do not condone it.

But it comes from many simple conclusions.

I do not trust myself. I no longer trust those around me. I no longer feel safe outside. I don’t trust anything.

So what else am I to trust?

If I am staying, there must be something and someone greater.

Because if I had a choice, I would not stay.

If I had a choice, I would leave.

If I was truly the master of my own life, I would like to leave.

-begonia

If I were to disappear, it would be like a ripple in the ocean.

Drowned out by far more important waves.

The world will continue spinning.

I will remain, in pain with memories no one else remembers.

-begonia