She grasped tightly to her purple flower, strangling it unintentionally. Yet when she looked down at the battered green stem, a fire eurpted in her heart. Each petal became a word that I had said. With each one she riped off, she repeated a word. When the petals ran out, she started to attack the beautiful yellow center. The pistil, I believed it to be called.
“I. am. leaving. and. I. don’t. believe. I. will. return.â?
She whispered ‘return’, as if she could seperate that one word from the rest of the sentence. As if she could make it the only word I said.
For some reason I felt the urge to apologize. To run to her delicate white arms. To pick up the petals and place them around her smooth face.
Yet I couldn’t say a thing.
All I could do was pick up a pen and open my moleskine journal. I sat down right on the floor, in the small pile of petals before her. I could feel her eyes on me as I wrote. This was the only way to tell her why. Why I had to break her heart.