It’s a strange world we live in, I ironically realised - as I was dying.

I’ve lived. I’ve had the fortune of feeling; emotions either caressing my heart or ripping it to shreds; emotions who have either consumed me or left me numb.

And I’ve left my mark on this world. I’ve met so many people; people who I have loved, and have loved me. People I’ve hated, and have hated me back. People I have noticed, but have never noticed me. People who have noticed me, but I have never noticed them. People I’ve known, lived and laughed with. People I’ve fought with, who have left me either breathless with happiness or full of rage.

I was here. I have lived. I have loved - and I have left.

When we got together I quickly learned that
he liked to fix things;
whether it be cars, toys or even people.

But I didn't need fixing.

So he peeled me apart,
petal after petal,
until I was no more than broken glass on the floor.

Then, he started stitching.

Where he had ripped me at the seams he
sewed my wounds together and glued the pieces back
until he was satisfied.

He was done knitting.

What I forgot to mention was
that he'd always grow bored a short while later
so he eventually left me for somebody else

"who needed fixing."