Perhaps They Are All Lonely Flowers

I never thought I would treasure so many little details, turning them over and over again in my mind.

Nor did I ever think that I, once so carefree, would become as obsessed with collecting the past as Greedy Grasping Gentaire was with hoarding money.

I gave everything I had, down to the last drop;

I held nothing back from what I could give;

All I can have in return is memories, I suppose…

I am trying to write a footnote for the people who were part of my life these past six months.

Perhaps everyone who stubbornly clings to the people they once knew is pitiable.

The very thought of it is sorrowful.

I write it down because I am afraid I will forget:

Forget the tiny details, the tears and the laughter, and the lives that may never cross mine again,

Along with those sincere eyes…