A sunday.

I only pick daisies to let them wither in my back pocket, next to the winks and smiles from passerby’s. I’ve been waiting for a rainy autumn, but the days are still long and the parks crowded with lovers. I don’t blame them for watching the sunset. I wondered where my people were, the heartbreakers, the one-day-at-a-time, the reckless, the wilder ones. I wanted to be like them, even though I had always been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe I was fooling myself, maybe I was lying to myself. Maybe all I ever needed was love, the sparks and the butterflies. You made me realize that. I thought I could never love someone so much it hurts, and it does and it aches and my body is built of rose petals. I’d be a hopeless fight to dismantle the fireworks you set off inside my head. I’d be hopeless to love you and here I am, counting the days with the butterflies in the park.

 

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