i'm sorry, sunflower.
“at a certain point, sunflowers have to go back to being sunflowers.” my friend looks at me, solemn. in the back of our biology class, while my teacher is trying and failing to teach us circadian rhythm, the two of us mourn the loss of the sunflower, gone from my repertoire of metaphors.
i promise i’m over you. really, i am. i know it doesnt look or sound like it, but i am over you. i dont write like i used to. i dont use it to process things anymore, not in the moment. these are old thoughts, backburned into the canvas of my mindscape, they just exist, within me, and at some point i write them down. i’m sorry that it’s happening now. i know you dont want to think about these things anymore. i’m sorry,, but i dont get to choose when these constellation ideas show up, marking the stars as a canvas, shaping them to their whim, and today, in the back of bio, all i can see in my minds eye are sunflowers.
and im so sorry, but i do not see you among them.
you see, i never really cared for sunflowers as a child. i wasn’t a fan, i thought the dainty petals of roses were prettier and their thorns all the more poetic. and then i met you. and i started falling in love with sunflowers, with the colour yellow, with green and gold embellishments, with rich amber eyes and air like southern sweet tea, syrupy thick between us, and so nauseatingly wonderful.
let us dwell on the days, bright and productive. like the sunflower, we move with the sun through the sky, instinctually, we turn our heads, follow our own motion, mimicking. but independently, we crane our necks to hold onto this spark of life and love. we cherish its warmth, and we bask in the gentle shine on an afternoon, sitting by big windows, water bottles in hand, shoes off, sliding around this empty highschool in my socks. later, when we win districts for our writing, 1st and 3rd, it is still without socks, and it is the brightest peak of the afternoon. we settle into the windowsill, and we sit and we talk, and heavy metal around my neck, you take a photo of me there. i still have it. i don’t know if you do.
but like the natural order of the world, the sun sets. and suddenly, enveloped in darkness, we figure out what to do with ourselves. i am sorry i got you into that mess. you still blame yourself, i know, because you had high school figured out, and i didn’t. nevertheless, darkness prevails as long as it wants to, climbing its way into every corner of our minds, every nook and cranny in our hearts. i did not want to leave you, believe me. but i had to. i’m sorry i had to. i’m in a better place now, i hope that justifies it. selfishly, i hope that is enough for you. and here, in this darkness, we miss the sun. we both do, from different parts of the globe. the sun sets here faster than where you are, i forget sometimes, and i text you late. you reply in the morning. sometimes.
what else are we to do, sunflower, but turn towards tomorrows sun and wait? i hope the sun has risen already, where you are. it is not here yet. i promise you i didn’t lie when i said that these were old thoughts, but i was lying when i said i dont use writing to play connect the dots. of course i still do. i can almost make out the big dipper.
this will be the last poem i write with sunflowers, for a while at least. i don’t know if i will ever return to this metaphor, but it feels wrong to vow that i wont. so i’ll leave you with this. i hope this is a good eulogy. i remember you asked me to write you one before. it’s a bit late, sorry.
i think the sun is coming soon. i can see the rays of light begin over the horizon.
and sunflowers, are at last, just sunflowers again. the metaphor is laid to rest.
what beautiful flowers sunflowers are. my mother loves them, you know. she wants to grow them.
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