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Hope is a beautiful thing.

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 I hope whenever you see sunflowers you think of me, or chrysanthemums or any flower for that matter. I hope when you think of me, you have enough love in your life that you don't ache for mine but still miss it a wee bit in a sweet way. I hope when you think of me, you smile for all the times I made you smile and you me. I hope your heart finds so much happiness and peace that you think of me only in passing as a faint memory of what could have been but never will be. I hope when it is time for me to finally go, you find out about it and shed a tear or two. I hope that when we meet in heavens you and I can finally be friends. Alternatively, when we are reduced specks of dust, I hope we fall in the same garden, become the soil that grows flowers, flowers that you never got me, flowers I hoped would remind you of me. I hope for too much, that's always been my fault.
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Uncertainty

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 It is frustrating and exhausting to be with you and not even be with you. To love you with all my heart and to know that you are not mine, never will be. To force myself to not even think if you can be. To wait for you to text, to not be sure if you can't reply or if you don't want to. To not being able to count on you, to think if I was dying and I called you, you might not even be able to answer. To love you anyway. To keep reminding myself that I have no right on you whatsoever, to know that you own me nonetheless. To love you, anyway.
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Unsent Letter

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 I have decided that I don't hate you anymore. I don't think I ever actually hated you, but I did resent you. I resented you for so long, for not putting in enough effort, for falling out of love with me, for taking me for granted. But I never hated you, I loved you too much to ever be able to hate you. I think we both went in it with love, I am sure that I did but I think you did too, because I felt loved, I felt wanted, I felt complete. Maybe that was the problem, you were not the missing piece, that was not on you but that is a discussion for another day. I think we went in with love or infatuation mistaken for love and when we ran out it, whatever that it was, we were afraid or perhaps too lazy to come out. I don't know about you but I know I knew deep down that we had run out of whatever that it was, but I kept telling myself, maybe if I put in a little more effort, a little more time we will rekindle it. I don't know about you though, because you stopped telling m...
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