The end

It's over.

Yet another story that became a part of me, it replays itself over and over in my bones. We became one, you and me. Our tears and laughter and pain and joy.

I knew the end was coming, but I didn't want it to. I wanted it to last forever. But, the thing is, it wouldn't be as precious if it lasted forever.

It's like a flower, I suppose. Growing through all the dirt and rain and sunshine. Beating on until it bloomed. Oh, the sight was beautiful. Words sprouting and growing.

Finally home, at last. 

I suppose I knew that you were a flower and that you were going to wither and die.

So, as I saw your life draining from your fragile petals, I gently scooped you out of the dirt. Tears found their way down my cheek. I grabbed a napkin, softly moving your petals open. I set you in my favorite book, closing it.

Home. 

Sighing gently, I knew that you wouldn't grow with roaring life anymore. But it brought comfort to me that you'd still be there, left in my old scrapbook.

Your dried body still written with words. Your entire life, on a simple flower. I smile with joy every time I look over you, knowing that you helped me ever so quietly along my small life.

But there's comfort in knowing that you ended well. That you were happy, even as your life came to an end.

You gave me a taste of home, darling, and that's all that I could have ever asked for.

So until then,

farewell.