Goodbye Caitlin

You search the memory of the flower as it was, and it still amazes. It rose to the sky and contrasted wonderfully with it's background. It beckoned to come sit with it, be part of it's beauty, taste the aroma of attraction - the attraction to whatever but it was attraction nonetheless.

The flower rose it's petals to the sun when the rays washed themselves over it, and it returned it's own enhanced warming glow. The warmth was to be shared; shared with other flowers that may sit with it in the bed, shared with those that would enjoy it's presence.

I had one such creature in my place. It would sit in the sun streaming through the window. It's voice would be it's color and it would cast soft hues around the rooms of my house.

I will not lie. There were days when I would neglect to water it. While it lived the world seemed more balanced. The world felt more ready to accept, and it less scary and somehow more complete.

This feeling as I'm thinking right now is not accurate. The flower has no way to betray. It must sit there and be as it is, honest and aspiring, just as the scorpion is deadly and cunning. My feelings are mottled in a way to make me the villain. Nonetheless, the flower that was in my house was beautiful and fulfilling.

Late on a Monday evening, when her dog was outside, I heard the door open. She stepped into the foyer and did not remove her coat. She had no luggage, and her Mercedes was still running. It was idling in the driveway like an attentive beast waiting for command. I could hear it through the open door growling at nothing in particular. I think the drivers door was still open.

She wore cowboy boots, but in a way that made them not seem tacky. Sure, she could carry any image. That was what she did. Unlike most models, she would drag the fantasy off the photograph and sit in my kitchen, in just panties and a t-shirt and make me feel like the room was beautiful, me with it.

She wasn't staying.

We stood six feet apart, I had been here before with others. The room was turning gray, and the paint was peeling. It had starting with the inside of my heart. There were few words said but it was enough. She turned, and her fake but perfect boots tapped across the marble tile. I felt the onset of that choking feeling.

As the door closed behind her there was no color in the room, and in my heart the petals turned to dust. All that remained of us was a pile of ash. Hope was lost briefly.

Inside I felt the revolution begin, there was still life in me somewhere. It was in that place that I keep for myself only. Then I felt my reserve engine start. The lights in my soul flickered on, and I battled the grayness until I was able to recolor my world. I was alone in the depths with just a light on my head to guide me.

Goodbye Caitlin.