Brown. Brown daisies everywhere. Just the petals. In between my lips, my fingers. My face. Obscuring my view. Wind – and the petals flirt with naked skin.

He always sat at the front of the class. Ate chips for lunch everyday. He never removed his glasses and his pants were always one size too big. Whenever Mrs. Low called him up to answer a question he always blinked twice at the sound of his name, and once more if he was unsure of the answer. He had hands which looked masculine but felt so damn gentle. He never liked changing with the other guys before P.E. and his hair was always so tidy even when uncombed. He liked Blue, but not Navy. Sometimes he hummed to himself theme songs from age-old sitcoms as he strolled through corridors. I knew those songs sometimes, and other times I didn’t. He smiled sometimes too, but these times were few. I watched him sometimes, all of the time, but time is relative. He was mine before even he knew.

They’re soft. And when I close my eyes I can still see the sun. The rays tear my skin, but I cling to those daisies like a quilt that hides me. Oh God, do I cling.

He loved everyone while I loved one. He never showed it, didn’t believe it himself. I saw him, said hello when I really meant hello, run away with me. He said hello and walked away. I chased, and got him and he never left. At the beach one day I said take off your glasses. He said no, I can’t see. I said there’s nothing worth seeing. He said no. I took them off. I said god, your eyes are amazing, they’re so brown. He squinted and said, give me back my glasses. And I said, okay, and gave them back to him. He was beautiful.

The petals keep flowing, keep covering me and I feel like I’m drowning in them. I pick one and squash it against my tongue. It is saccharine sweet.

He said he loved me. He wrote me poetry once. And nothing says I love you better than poetry. And nothing says I love you more than life itself than bad poetry. I wrote him poetry every day. They said I was too good for him. They said he was strange. They said he wasn’t right up there. They said he was off his rocker. Who were they?

I try to hug you hold you but you slip away. Your ugly brown against green grass blades on my white flesh. And a yellow sun above. It’s like a painting you ruin but you fall all over me and I sing out loud.

We hardly talked. He would play with my fingertips and stare at nothing at all. I would just watch. Those eyes. Brown gerberas, he said. What, I said. Brown gerberas, they’re daisies. My mum said my eyes look like brown gerberas, he said. Yes they do. I love daisies, I said. Marry me, he said.

I’m as good as dead and it pleases me.

I want your children, I said. Okay, he said.

…but you fall all over me and I sing out loud. I sing out loud.

The condition worsened, they said. He won’t remember anything after the treatment, they said. He’s as good as gone, they said. No point keeping him alive, they said. A human vegetable, they said. Radiation does that, they said. You have to let him go, they said. No, his eyes are open, I said. He can hear and see me, I said. I play with his fingertips and he stares at nothing at all. I decide to close his eyes.

I move and shove until I lose all strength. I thrust and let them engulf me. In desperation I inhale as much as I can, and steal as much touch as they allow. But they stick to my skin and fall no deeper within.

In the day I live for my child. And at night, I sleep and live more.

The petals kiss my eyes and we lie together breathing.

 

May 2010

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