I still have the first flowers

you ever gave me

pressed between the pages of my journal.

I should have wrote down the date,

because after that,

you never gave me flowers again.

The flowers are dead.

Shriveled.

I can't get rid of them. 

They're the only metaphor I can use

to describe how our love works.

When I first got the flowers, they were bright

soft.

They were nice and beautiful.

6 months later and they're still taped in my journal.

And now

they are still beautiful,

but it is strange

how the petals have not fallen 

yet

and they haven't crumbled

yet.

But they're getting there.

slowly, with every slow day that passes,

the flowers lose meaning.

I sometimes hope that 

you will some day give me flowers again.

But that's just false hope

and I don't know why I hope 

that somehow the flowers will start living.

Every day they just become more dead.

I can't even write anything aside from talking about you and these stupid flowers. Because it is the only way that I can honestly describe the transition of what used to be and what is here now and it is so heart breaking to me that I am just sitting here writing another stupid poem about your stupid flowers. And how I miss the way you used to tell me you love me in the middle of the night and the way I would smile when I woke up because I was on your mind at 3 am. I don't smile in the morning anymore. And your stupidsmile andyour stupidlaugh and the way you pucker your lips when you're thinking and how you used to hold my hand so tightly in the car and now all you do is grip the steering wheel. So I have nothing to hold but my other hand so I sit there and peel at my cuticls because something is wrong something is different and you neve notice but when you're driving I always turn my head to look at you,

and I look at you and I love you way too much for my own good.

and all I want you to do is bring me some flowers or maybe even show me that you still care enough to see me once a week and tell me that you love me please love me. and be the first one to say "I love you" because I always say it and sometimes

you don't even say it back.

Did you ever even love me? Did any cell in your body feel love for me? Did you ever really feel sparks when I touched you or kissed you? Or was it all a lie? Was it all a game to make me fall in love with you so that you could take what you want from me and then leave me stranded and I sleep side ways in my bed to fill up the lonely space that you used to fill. 

Because you know that I can't leave you.

I would slit my wrists and rip out my veins for you.

I bet you wouldn't clip a fingernail for me.

And I think the saddest part of this, is that I know,

I know that the longer I stay with you the more it's going to hurt when you leave for good but

I don't care.

I think I love you too much

I know I do.

I'm sorry.