As I walk down my driveway, past the seemingly endless field of
green,
sprinkled with little purple weeds, dotted with clumps of yellow
daffodils,
I think about how much I love flowers.
Roses are my favorites, but daisies and wildflowers are a close
second, I think.
I like to think of myself as a flower.  Maybe I’m a wildflower .
. .
It would make sense, seeing as my spirit is as free
as the wind that blows the petals across the fields of green.
I am a wildflower.
I am the flower, firmly rooted to the ground, unable to escape.
My roots, they are tangled, and mangled, and torn, and broken,
but strong . . . they refuse to move.
Like chains, they keep me here where the seed was planted.
I am a wildflower,
trapped in a garden of weeds . . .
none of them wildflowers.  We are not meant for the garden.
Oh no! Not when there are fields, and pastures, and valleys, and
hills, and mountains out there.
Here in the garden, we get food and water, and daily care.  But
there in the world!
That is where I am meant to be!  When I see the birds flying
overhead I shake with jealousy.
I feel the wind swaying me back and forth, as if it is calling
me.  “Come with me, oh sweet wildflower.  Let the world see your
beauty, while you see the beauty of the world.”
I want to touch the mountains.  I want to sing with the sky.  I
want to hear the wind saying,
“Look, I told you it was beautiful.”  I want to dance with it,
as it carries me everywhere.

Something is missing from my smile--
This endless winter in my heart...
When the other half to my whole
is gone, so is my soul.
But when we are one,
(Which is always in my mind and yours),
always together, together and forever.
Birds will sing louder, flowers will smell sweeter, stars will shine brighter, and we will look upon
this world we have created, and it will be love.
Winter can't hurt us.

Say my name.
Spell it out with your fingers in the air.
Scream it to the mountains,
let them hear you.
Let my name roll off your lips,
let it ride the silver waves.
Write it in the stars,
each hand picked by you.
Twinkling, you’ve chosen only the brightest
to match my eyes.
String them together with the melodies of gods.
I can hear the trumpets.
No.

Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear,
your cheek against mine,
between inhale, exhale,
“I love you.”
Take my hand,
I’ve no better use for it.
I’ll give you my heart because
without you it’s incomplete.
Everything is perfect.

Because of you, the sun shines on me, even when it's raining.
Every time you look at me, love radiates out from you, and i can believe in it.
Never leave me, because i wouldn't be able to live.
Just one kiss, and i'm captivated. . . Yours forever.
Am i the only one who feels this way? no, i know you feel it too.
My best friend, my life, my soulmate, my love, my other half.
I love you.
Never ever leave. promise me.

There was something there,
just a glimpse.
It lasted only a split second.
Something there,
that was pushing me back to Him.

I think it was you.
Because not only can I not imagine life without you,
I can’t imagine death without you either . . .
and this seems like the best option.

And just minutes after this realization,
came the final push that I needed.
Back to him.
I know what I was meant to do now.
It’s all for you.

You are the raindrops that kiss my face, and run down my cheeks;
and the tears as well, because I know you’d never let them fall.
You’d catch every one.
You are the soft, blue blanket that wraps around me every night,
and now seems so big because you aren’t under it with me;
and the sweatshirt I wear to sleep,
because it’s yours and it still smells like you.
You are the wind that blows my hair in my face,
because I know how much you love playing with my hair,
and how much you love my face.
You are my other half.
And I know this because I can feel the hole in my chest
where half of my heart used to be, but now isn’t because it’s with you.
And because you hold my heart (I know you protect it well),
I will only be half alive until we are together again.
One soul, two bodies.
I am you, and
You are me.

I am Teddy.
I live in a box,
though I used to live in a bed,
your bed,
sitting bravely by your head
while you slept.
While you dreamt of fairy worlds
and princesses in castles,
I protected you from the evil wizards
and fire-breathing dragons
as you held me close in your arms...
I was your best friend.

But now that you’re grown,
and you’ve put me away,
who will protect you?

I am Teddy.
I live by your side.
I’ll be here forever.
You used to love me too.

I backed my ambulance into a tree.
I tried so hard to avoid it,
But there it was, right behind me.
I'm surrounded by trees,
And behind those is a body of water.
Nowhere to go.
As soon as I see a way between the trees
And try to take it,
I am drowning.
Desperately trying to stay afloat,
But I'm not the best swimmer.
One day, I won't be strong enough to hold on
To the air above the water,
And I'll let the water fill up my lungs
And take me, just as it took my ambulance

I look out into the sea of people,
and see not one knows me.

Some of them have known me for 10 years,
some for 2 years,
but, none of them know me.

They see me every day,
and they think they know me.
For I have become a master of deception,
hiding my thoughts behind closed doors of emotions,
putting up walls to see who is brave enough,
curious enough,
to break them down.
They see the smile upon my face,
see the way I like to laugh and talk,
see the expressions on my face as I try to hide
yet, none of them see me.

None but you.
None of them know me the way you do.
I see the way you look at me and I know you feel the same.
You know me better than anyone,
better than myself, even.

I can’t hide from you.
You see every little twitch of muscles that control the moves I make,
and you determine the legitimacy of it;
whether I’m faking or not.
And you see all the different sparkles in my eyes;
they smile when they see you, and gaze off when my mind is elsewhere.
You notice my expressions and my mood,
and the tone of my voice as it goes up and down hinting at secrets I wish not reveal,
and you decipher them,
as if you can read my mind.

My mind.
The labyrinth of stories and thoughts and hopes and wishes and dreams
and worries and doubts
hidden to all for so long yet,
known by you.
You have braved the walls and,
opened the doors and,
deciphered the mysterious world that is
My mind.

And it is for this reason
that my mind,
my soul,
my heart,
my love,
and my life
is you.

Throw me out the window, literally, that would probably hurt less than theoretically.
But then maybe you’d care enough to call, and talk to me for more than 49 seconds.
I wish I could tell you about my flight, but I can’t, literally, so maybe I can, theoretically.
The minute you said goodbye I felt myself take off.
I left the ground with such sudden urgency that I didn’t notice how fast I was going.
Next, I felt myself collide with the cold, hard, glass:
cold as ice,
hard as a rock.
Within milliseconds, the glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, each piercing my face, one by one, every time you said you couldn’t call.
And then, after the glass pulled the blood from my body, I went cold, and fell.
I’ve fallen down three stories, one for every day, and I’ve still got four more to pass.
You’d think the icy wind across my skin would feel liberating as I fall, but all I feel is cold.
falling
falling
falling
all the way down.
You say you know what this feels like, but I promise, you’ve never felt the shards pierce your soul like I have.  You’ve never felt them pierce your heart.  You’ve never fallen, with no knowledge of what will be thrown at you, and no knowledge of how far away the ground is.

And the worst part is, I’m falling alone, because you’re not here, and I can’t tell you this.
So for now, I put on a happy face, and instead of falling, I am flying.

I am writing a story.
I’ve only been working on it for almost 3 months. . . not long at all compared to how long I plan to be working on it.
It is a work of art, a masterpiece, actually.
If it were a painting, I used only the finest paint.
If it were a sculpture, the richest clay.
A photograph, the exposure was perfect.
But, it is a story. . . and hopefully, I am using all the right words.
I hope I never finish this story.  
Because if I finish the story I will have no reason to write anymore.
This story, might--scratch that--IS the best thing I have ever written.