After weeks of suppressing feelings, I heard a mention of your parallel—the polar opposite of the man I grew smitten by—and my face unconsciously turned pale pink. “He’s not like that, is he?” my brain started, as if to remind me of why I was spellbound by a golden-eyed flower in the first place.
He’s not like that… Why did the planets have to remind me that he is of a rare element? After burying him in a cemetery of former muses, every sunflower turned its face toward his grave. You made a pact with the universe, my lad? I built up the courage to detach the strings, but your force is graceful and pure that every living and breathing thing sway and twirl to the rhythm of your beating heart. And now I sway too…..
Why did I have to see reversed version that came as a form of a reality slap, screaming “Look how awful this lad is, and remember how your man is NOTHING like that. That he’s an angel compared to those wolves.”
I had to train my heart to dwindle its beats, and I had to teach my eyes to look the other way, but pure souls like yours are hard to grow out of. You have the capacity to quicken my blood circulation and rubify my cheeks when I thought I was too old to be able to feel that way about a certain someone.
And I try and try and try to replace the thought of you with something else, but you’ve placed hints of your purity everywhere that it’s hard not to curl up in a corner and blush again. My God, why did you have to remind me of his good-mannered soul? Didn’t I say noble men were my weakness?