he sat.

the boy

he simply sat in his chair

and did what the teacher told him to

and wrote down words

created by other people

and he wished so strongly, so hotly

that he could create his own words

or at least make the words of others into feelings of his own

and so he did

he walked.

the young man

he walked home, dreading what he would find there

even though he knew

and he was right

as he opened the door to the ghastly smell

of medicine and sick and decaying happiness

and the even worse smell or bloody noses and

beer-soaked thoughts

but he walked over to his mother and placed in her icy hands

a sunflower

that he had found on his walk home from school

and as a tear left his eyes the exact moment the light left hers

he felt peaceful knowing that she had passed with a smile

gracing the wrinkles of her beautiful face

he smiled.

the husband

as he tasted the soup that his husband had made

and he thanked him for the hundredth time

"for what?" he asked

and he replied with an ocean of blooming grace

for living, for staying, for making, for caring, for loving

he said

and he lifted a steady hand to hold his shaky one

as he brought the spoon up

and he smiled just the same as he tasted his own art

he played.

the man

he hummed along to the tune

as he played his lovely new guitar

for his sleeping spouse

as he looked at the family of sunflowers

in their beautiful green pot

with their sunshine pedals in the clear water

he grinned despite a sweeping breeze of despair

for he looked out to the periwinkle night

and he knew that one night, he would pass on

but he would join his mother in the night

and become a constellation he would look upon

every night

he wept.

the widower

as he brought down his hat to hold his tears

he let the flood that had been building up break the dam

and he broke free

he let his hands shake

and his throat burn

and his brain malfunction

as he looked upon the seemingly sleeping body

of his no-longer love

he shook.

the old man

with rage, with cold, with sadness

as he wondered what life could have been

if they didn't have to abide by the constricting and suffocating

bands that society had placed on their world

and he wished, as he played once more, that he could be free

he considered that perhaps death would be a pleasurable solution

then he could once more be with his lost half of his soul

but no, as he looked at the house that was no longer his

he realized that his husband would not have wanted that

and so he trudged along, guitar in hand, away from the memories

he poured.

the withering soul

he let all emotion flow from the deepest crevices of his heart

as he sang, and he sang, and he sang

as he play, and he play, and he play

his breathing shivered, and his muscles ached and begged

for his old body to take a break

but as his chest started to heave from the toll

and his hands burned from him strumming the strings

he refused to give in

for if he would pass, he would do it lovingly

and what better way to do so

than to play his song on his coffee brown guitar?

people passed and gave the man looks

and he knew that they were eyeing his tattered robe

but he did not mind

for he was happy

and as he finally fell

and his eyes closed

he saw nothing but a sunflower growing from the cracked pavement he had sat on

just a moment before

and he grinned as his breaths came slower

and his mind blanked out

his spirit flew away at last

he wondered.

the soul of the man

as he walked towards the glowing freedom

about how he got here

but the thoughts soon halted

for he saw the smiling faces of his mother and spouse

waiting there for him

and they reached out

and so did he

and at last he was free

to be who he was destined to be all along

at last

the sunflower.