Flowers Are No Good To The Dead

Have you lost someone you loved?

You know that feeling when someone dies, that helplessness, that loss, like you can’t ever talk to them and tell them that the fight was stupid and you didn’t mean what you said? Or that the boy isn’t and would never have been worth the friendship? And when you think back to all of the good times, and then and ONLY then you realise you still love that person. And for what? They are dead. They died resenting you. They died with your hatred in their heart.


Or how about have someone you loved leave?

They go on to a better place, a better future. They leave because they have a new job, or seek a new start, or the other many reasons people go. Have you looked someone in the eyes before they got on a flight and you knew the connection you shared, that line that was always growing, had just hit a wall, and would not grow anymore? Gone.


You think you have been heart-broken. You haven’t. Loving someone who you don’t get to love is actual heart-break. Watching them grow, learn, live and love without you. Nothing you can do. They’re gone. The love you have for them? Still as passionate as the day you first met.


Take this from me. Flowers are no good to the dead. Ring your boyfriend, tell him you love him. Hold him extra tightly when you hug him. Ask him questions and let him ramble on and listen to every word he speaks. Form yourself as part of him. Visit your grandparents. Joke with them. Do random acts of selflessness. Get flowers delivered to their door. I don’t care if it’s not a “special occasion.” Spend money on them. Go into a shop and buy something that they would like. Get them a spoon and gift wrap it, if only to see them laugh. Remind people how much you love them. Never ever let them question it.


If you love someone, tell them. Even if they don’t love you back. Even if it terrifies you to admit it. Let your voice shake. Ask him to be in your life. Try it out. Try love. If he dies tomorrow, make sure he dies knowing your heart is with him wherever he goes. Death isn’t an ending, more a movement. Ensure your heart stays with him.


Too many honey tears are spilled. Too many hearts are shattered because you waited and hoped he would come to you. Go to him. Be good to him. If love was a number, it would be one.


If it’s you reading this. You, you dope. If it’s you?

Just know that I love you.

No matter how far you go, my heart glides there too.

No matter how dark it gets, my soul will find yours.

And if I never get to see you again? I will never forget. And I will never cease loving you.

(You’re still a moonhead though).

(And I know you love me too).

(^That doesn’t mean you can’t fucking say it to me though).

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