It grows dark where the bees near the wildflowers don’t sing.

The tulips are still tired. They’re stretching their necks to the sun before they wake. It’s an act of surrendering. Submitting to the sun for waking them in the mourning. It’s just how things go- I promise that’s all it is.

I felt pangs in my chest. It took the air from my lungs and held it over me like a grudge. When the world tempts you- it robs you. And when it robs you- you’ll pay the ransom. I swear I would have let it.

I crumbled in a haze. Lights flooding through my window, submerging me like a curse. This is how I know I’m breaking. It’s the part of the story I hate. Just take your wounds and give them to me- I’ll carry. Call me helpless. Call me a barterer. Call me hopeful. I’m just crawling on the broken glass trying to get to you. And if the world stopped that day- I’m sure I would have fallen into some sort of abyss with you- holding you up like a tulip cracking through the stem. As beautiful as that may seem, it never lasts. And I taught myself to soften your landing a long time ago- I’d cut open wounds just to see you heal. There’s some sort of magic we share. Just like that.

So, light the forest on fire and cut the tulips at the throat. Burn me with the bloom and watch me crawl back to you. I’d take it all like a breath if I had such power. I’d take my season and let it breath life into you. I’d lurk where it’s darkness where the bees near the wildflowers don’t sting.

I’m just glad I don’t have to. Not this time. AMT