Sitting on a wooden stool with a sunflower, pulling the petals wondering if I should love again or should I not.
Asking this simple object a question that has caused the rumblings in my mind to bang against my skull.
I should love again.
Love fills me with hopes and dreams that the white picket fence is no longer just an old romantics imaginary scenario.
That it doesn't just slip through my fingers when I try to drink from its divine essence,
Quenching the thirst of butterflies in my stomach with every passing thought.
I should not love again.
Eventually the love flies away when the cocoon is ready to break after taking everything that I have offered.
Flying eastward, westward, or upward. Wherever you're not.
Dragging your heart through the mud, ****, and kicking dust hoping that it'll soon be over but its shadow follows my every step, constantly reminding me of what once was or will never be.
Give me respite or give me death.
If Death is ready to receive me with a loving embrace, perhaps I can find the warmth I've been constantly seeking atop its White Horse which will carry me beyond the borders of long forgotten stars.