Traumatic heartache

I think this time it's over. I fell in love - so briefly. All the petals have fallen to the floor and they lie there, their dieing veins withering away...

I still see him, still feel those eyes upon me, those glimmering emerald jewels. I walk and I feel his presence about me - if I turned, I might see him there, behind me, trying to catch up.

How is it there is a cord between us still? Some invisible chain just about to break apart? I have not spoken to him in several days, just lingering in silence, held back against my will. Don't contact him, my mind says, and my heart quakes for this, afraid one tug and the cord might be severed forever. Just wait, I'm told, and I suffer the darkness of my pathos mingled with the bruises of jelousy, imagined or real.

Be happy should he move on, I say. This will make the permanence solid and not a ground made of glass; this would be the point of recovery built after the embitterment, crushed ego, and devistation. It would be a gift of selfless love to accept him happy in the arms of another, and it would be poinient, all those hours when the petals were still upon that rose, only falling one by one without my even realizing til there were only a few left. And I clung to them even as they gently fluttered away, escaping my fingers, wafting in the rising breezes of change.

I did love him. And I wanted to love him. He very nearly loved me; for a moment. Even now? No way to know. No way to understand. Just silence and the very last ounce of life draining from those petals at my feet. One more second or two; one more day.

Yes, be happy then. He will find comfort and life in another's eyes, in another's voice. Be glad. The possibilities have been washed away with what will not be known and only linger as the thoughts of that rose.