Flare ups are the worst, especially when it comes to love. Your smile radiates as bright as the sun, and you start to wear colors once again. Everything seems to be coming up roses, until you smell the lily he gave you.
And then it all rushes back like a flash flood.
The chilly night where you both met up halfway, speaking of the god awful dream with monkeys in space you had, strengthening the abs beneath his shirt with your humor. That one crisp, spring morning where he brought you flowers freshly dewed from the fields in one hand, and a burning cup of tea in the other.
For the remainder of the day, your body is fueled with tension. You aggressively throw your belongings everywhere, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. Not a thing can make you smile because all you can recollect is the warmth you no longer receive from an old routine.
You accept the fact that your person will never come back, but that doesn’t mean you understand it.
You will never understand how one can instantly zap all the love they once had for you into a thing of oblivion. For what it is worth, no jurisdiction of explanation can mask the process of healing.
Because for you, love doesn’t fade. Even after the years pass, even after the numerous attempts of throwing the fishing rod into the sea for a precarious catch, we throw back the fish because it simply cannot survive the same air we used to breathe.
You left me here, clenching the stuffed animal I still have after all these years, whimpering over our past. You left me with lost puzzle pieces. You left with a smell that will forever resonate the complete embodiment of you.
The difference between my flare up and yours is how mine is targeted towards you, only you, while you aim for copies of my being.