begonias and sand

um. june of this year was a bad month. i was going thru it.

I mourn the relationships I’ve lost and yearn for the ones I’ve yet to experience, but I’m the cause of their absence all the same. 

I cup begonias in my cold palms, hoping the dying traces of warmth in my veins can keep it’s petals from drooping. Hoping I can keep it alive, But, nevertheless, I watch it wilt with a helpless fascination, then turn around and cry about it leaving me.

My friends are begonias. I am nothing but myself.

The people I told myself I’d never let go of are slipping through my fingers like sand back to the ocean. They’re leaving me because I give them no other choice. You can water a dead flower all you want, but it's still dead at the end of the day. No matter how much you give and give and give to it, it’s still just dead. There’s only so much you can try to do before you have to uproot it, before you have to rid your garden of it’s weeds.

I’m the flower in this situation.

I do this to myself.