‘I love you.’ She would say. The words that she said, they don’t feel concrete. They were just part of the particles that were riding the winds. It felt natural. Still I didn’t need to be concern. It was right. It felt accurate. She had to speak those words for his ears. In my head, the sweetness that she exudes. The way she would light up in the confines of the blissful feelings.  She would smile. Thus, those words, it was great that she would be saying it. Back then, to me, in my mind, she was happy. My priority checked. Who was I to complain? The wallflower has no voice. It only holds the right to observe.

Then came the sporadic questions. The slight tremble caused by hurt that she masks. A simple ‘why’ hiding the elephant. I couldn’t say anything. I watched. Use a single leaf to soothe. The only honesty I could display was that I am by her side.  Her release fixed her temporary sadness. Her release highlighted how powerless I am. The replay of her tears fuelled the silent prayers that she would be better. In a worse offer, at least, let him be better.  Whichever was picked, I continued blending in with the darken walls. As she naturally got over it, I naturally blended into what was once ‘it’. I watched as she squealed forward then limp back for an occasional patch before surging forth to where we perceived she belonged.

During the times she faced front, forgetting the weeds and cracks of the wall left behind with time, I acknowledged how little my will to leave was. The layers of excuses, fabrications of logic, the ultimate nail and the final slide into the rabbit’s hole.  The endless loop, the patient preparation for a possible enlistment, all I did was stare at the back view that once was. She went forth. I closed the lid and box myself in as a safety net. Somehow through the illogical dissection, I decided my role was to blend in further into the cracks. After all, I like to believe this ‘we’ was something… … somehow.

‘The date is set.’ The feeling of being worn out caused by my extensive weeds attempting to maintain the walls holistic façade became evident. The strain makes its presence register as pain. ‘Don’t make this on me.’ Brightness of my petals seemed to admit defeat to the darkness that consume. Just like the wall behind, I became that dirty shade of orange.

‘Stop loving me!’

And so I withered.