At first, it just seemed like normal.

The painful, yet blissful

constricting, yet rising

shrinking, yet swelling

tightening in my throat, in my chest.

That same ball of unspoken words and fumbled flirts that appears there whenever I think of you.

And I was looking at you

(you,

you,

you)

when the feeling came.

The raw, squeezing bitterness, tying my throat into knots - like usual, yet more. It was like I couldn’t breathe - beyond, of course, how you always take my breath away.

And then it happened. A single, solitary blossom escaped, expelled from my chest in a cough.

And then the tightness swelled again, squeezing my throat once more until another cough, another flower - blue with silver-streaked petals - came;

and another,

and another.

My hands were a fairy’s bouquet, a florist’s wildest dream.

The light began to fade in me as the flowers ceased to come;
I couldn’t breathe, air stuck half-way, as they clumped one by one.

My lungs were filled with beauty;
I fell, unnoticed, to the ground.
I was closer to you than I could ever hope to deserve;

Flowers spilling out, I closed my eyes and heart and throat, my conscience sound.