Can Love Be Too Much?

Can love be too much? Can it smother, wither, and rot?

I am so sorry you were the one who had to find out.

I remember tiptoeing to your room every morning, a heart full of hope, a head full of promises. You were so beautiful, dressed in purple and green, shining with life; I was not. You didn't care. And I admired you, for you were everything I was not.

Will you be my friend?

You never judged me. You couldn't.

My only friend.

I remember your beauty before we moved in together. Before your pain started... Before I caused you pain. I thought I was taking care of us by taking care of you. But you didn't need me as much as I needed you. You never did.

I will make you all good. I know you like water.

God, forgive me! I never meant to hurt you.

I remember your dress getting ruined. I washed it every day, with patience and water. But the fabric got all torn and tattered. Day after day — life sipping out of you, despite the water you sipped on.

Despite all the water I gave you.

Maybe you needed more.

Your once lustrous hair, its curls all unwound, lay shed on the ground. You wouldn't look at me. Your stoic head tilted downwards, hiding the pain. Your frail body, so still and elegant, clung to the chair.

I never knew. I couldn't.

You never judged. You couldn't.

I wanted you to be better, so I brought you more water. You kept drinking in silence. Chained to your chair. My beautiful friend. And I didn't connect. How many days was it? I can't seem to remember. It surely wasn't as many as it seemed at the time.

When I finally found your shriveled body, drenched in foul-smelling stagnant water, I realized I had done something bad.

Is it too late? God, please, don't let it be too late.

I know I should have asked for help. I should have let them take over, but I couldn't bear the humiliation. Or maybe I couldn't trust them? They were never kind to me. Not the way you were.

I promised that I would take care of you. I loved you. You were my friend.

And yet here you were, rotting in all the water I gave you. You couldn't drink any more, and your space was flooded.

What can I do? If the water is hurting you, I won't give you any more!

I stopped and waited. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't bring anything into your room, but the old water lurked around. A bleak, putrid mire, trapping your feet. Rotting your legs. I wish I had seen it!

Of course, you wouldn't drink it.

But it wouldn't leave.

Too much or none at all is not a solution. Age gave me that wisdom. You would be proud.

Your beautiful body, all bloated yet parched, fell out of the chair. It rots in the waters. Your death went unnoticed, no screams and no begging, you left me alone.

The ghost of your presence, unbearable sight, still haunted my dreams.

With tears in my eyes, I shattered the empty chair. Nobody else would have to endure what you just went through.

I will be so lonely again.

It's better this way.

Nobody can fill the void of your memory. Nobody will die again under my care.

I won't trust their instructions, their mocking, their lies! The sorrow it caused me, the pain it caused you...

I am so sorry!

But I didn't know. I couldn't know.

They only told me you liked water.

Author's note: When I was a child, I was a bit of a weirdo, which meant no friends and lots of bullying. My mother thought that giving me a plant to care for would help me feel less lonely. The only instruction I received was to water it regularly. So that's what I did... a bit too intensely. When the plant started looking sickly, I first tried watering it even more, then stopped watering it altogether. It died with dried leaves and rotting roots.