Petals in the Wind

He found me picking flowers and said I was the prettiest one. Nobody ever loved me like him. Or so I thought. It turned out I never really knew what love was.

Our relationship was like a dance. Slow and sensual or dramatic and passionate - we were always moving. Even when we drifted away from each other or missed a few steps, we always found our way back. We always sought the eventual embrace of one another. I suppose I didn't realize we were out of sync as I twisted and turned to the music of our life counting on his eventual embrace once more. One day, our dance turned to musical chairs and I was left without a seat.

What about that day at the marigold field? We sat next to each other as the sun set and the wind blew tall grass around us. We played with the petals in the evening sun. I teased him as I plucked the petals off the flowers I picked, "You love me. You love me not."

"Oh god. What are you doing?" He teased me while laughing at my silliness.

"These flowers determine our fate," I told him. He rolled his eyes and watched me carry on with amusement. We were so vibrant with our joy.

On the second to last petal of the last flower left, I stared at him wide-eyed as I said, "You love me."

He knew what was coming. He knew what the last petal was fating.

He took the flower from me before I could finish the rhyme. He plucked the last petal, saying, "I'll love you forever, my pretty flower." My heart sang like a bird as he leaned in and kissed me with an everlasting love. I was his, and he was mine...at least on that day.

I suppose now I'm wilted in the vase; soggy with rotten water and without the warmth of sunshine. How did I not notice that the wind hadn't been blowing the same?

Whenever we had troubles, I'd find my way back to that marigold field. "I'll love you forever, my pretty flower," ran through my mind like a song stuck on repeat more days than not during those last few months. Maybe if he found me at the field again, he'd find who he used to be. Who we used to be. Maybe he'd keep his promise, and see the beauty in me that he used to see. I'd stay until the evening sun turned to the shimmering moon. He never came looking for me, but I forgave him just the same.

I'd try and try, but my efforts were never good enough. I wasn't the flower he wanted. Not anymore. My soul was being crushed as I clung to hope and desperation that I was wrong.

On the last night we were together, I came back from the field with a basket of marigolds. I sat down next to him on the porch, and played with the petals. "You love me. You love me not." I waited for him to say something - anything - as he stared in to the darkness in front of us. I feigned playfulness as I pulled out the last flower. This wasn't like the last time. There was no giggling or kisses. Just silence and desperation.

I plucked the second to last petal as relief swelled inside of me, "You love me not..."

His eyes met mine. He knew the same as I - "You love me" was the fate of the flower.

He gently took the flower from my hand and plucked the last petal. "I... I can't love you anymore." His eyes drifted away from mine once the tears began to overflow.

I silently cried as my heart shattered. He went inside. No parting kiss. No heartfelt goodbye. He just left the petals and I to drift in the wind. All I could think about was that damn marigold field, and all he could do was walk away.