the garden will burn

Let me tell you something. I have kept it bottled up for quite awhile now and I think it is time for you to know. Because if I don’t, I will pretty much suffocate. I don’t want to die young.

Let me tell you something – You are selfish. Yes, I think that’s what you are. In case you didn’t catch that, let me repeat. You are selfish. Why? You dare ask me why?

I had enough. You waltz into my garden as and when you like it, ignoring my plea for privacy, always demanding something from it.

Two months ago, it was a red rose.
Last month, a daffodil.
Yesterday, a cactus.
Today, a periwinkle.

You never reciprocate, you never return the pleasant favour, you let my flowers wilt by the corner of your room. You are selfish.

And I hate you.

Today shall be the last time, the last time you step into the compound that enshrines all my memories, the last time you hold me closely and whisper my name under your breath, the last time I will allow you mesmerise me with that gaze of yours.

The gates will close.
Don’t bother forcing it open.
The gates will close.
Don’t bother knocking for me.
The gates will lock.
Don’t bother crying for me.
The garden will burn.


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