Dying Gracefully

Sometimes I wonder where I would be if it wasn’t for you. Probably still wandering across open highways, dreaming in the window-seat, getting lost everywhere, except in reality. Do you remember when we first met? Underneath the swing set in the warm summer evening, or maybe, at the bookstore that burned down a few months ago. I hope it was at the bookstore. Though, I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore. 

 I cut my hair before I left and kept the locks in your library drawer. It’s not a promise per se, but it’s not a not-promise either. Sentiment, at best. I imagine that when we meet again, it’ll have grown out once more. And perhaps, next time, we can meet on even ground as strangers instead of heart-broken fools. For it was you who reached for me first and I would like to think that one day, I could be the one to reach for you. For you have always been to me, a tempestuous, fleeting thing, like a cold spring rain; and like petals, I find myself caught up in the whirlwind, scattering in a most beautiful kind of death. 

Please take this cup, and let me fill it up with sake. 

Even a beautiful flower, loses its petals due to the storm. 

Life is only a "goodbye".