The Last Sunset

The way I danced with the trees and sang with the birds before love became lost, pulled the trigger with anger and said it was the alpha, the male, the prototype that had done it for a specific role. I was never a victim on media but just a crazy woman simping on a man. Local news went silent when my home wrecked a house; my man wrecked a daughter. My husband wrecked his wife;

I died without flowers.

No step forwards in time, no going back and forth. I missed that time when I was sipping coffee in the afternoon, watching the sun bury itself in the ground at dusk, sometimes at bay deep within the waters. I was with him and his scent still lingers in my brain, captured every moment in a romantic cruise into soliloquy. Having someone seemed like epiphany before the dawn breaks in, and smiles became bruises once we're done sitting on a red, square sheet with striped lines.

How can someone turn your eyes purple in a way he wanted, and act like you deserved it?

I was just a woman like you. No voice, no coat, just a heart that understands.

I lived in a way I could have treasured.

but died without flowers on my chest.

...

He asked me about the make up I wore and end up hating a woman's mask; he hated beauty as anger held him tight. The dress my body suited went red from white as I bake him a pancake for breakfast.

I asked for forgiveness about his shirt that I forgot to wash but he laid his hands into my skin after. I was tired to see the sun going down a hill because night time is where my nightmares begin. They crawl into me, and took everything that I wasn't ready to offer. Caught in a moment I never enjoyed, but chose to pretend it was good.

I hope he dies without flowers.

The night was longer than it should but has the same hours and minutes. The pancake I made was never eaten, left on the side of the kitchen sink. I made it with my bare hands and made it a special one, but it never touched his lips nor his fragile ego.

That was the last time I made something for him. I stayed silent even breaking, that I do things just because he's the man and I'm just someone who came from his rib. Not a thing he bragged about, but he acted like it. Sounds on my head like straight vital lines, tingling sensation when he grabbed me again for the second time;

In his arms that were shelter went dark, and I was afraid of his touch. I was done and he wanted what he wanted. I never gave in, but a man's force is a trap.

The sun went down the hill.

Never thought I'll never see it rise again.

As I died without flowers, I died without remorse.

..

I was old enough to understand how a voice like mine could crack and sound funny, when a man barely speaks but gets everything with respect; The trees went curvy when a lightning strikes, and my chest unleashed the rain from the darkest clouds.

I prepared a food for him to eat at work. He needed what he needed so I have to wake up earlier than his alarm. I fried the eggs, he snored. I ironed his clothes, he snored. I packed his lunch, he snored. I cleaned the house, he snoozed the deafening sound his alarm clock makes.

Minutes passed and I was done, he woke up and exhaled, pointing fingers and raising voice, asking why didn't I do a thing.

My blood, sweat and tears ricochet. A lame wife like me wasn't good enough for this abode. He's huge but my love is gigantic. His ego is tantalizing but my patience is dominant. His mindset is toxic but my kindness is a disease.

I could die without flowers.

...

His phone beeped and he didn't snooze it, typed on its keys, started smiling like a friendly neighbor seeing a precious gift. I am a woman and I felt caution inches away, that moment of uncertainty I know the love of my life could have been taken away from me. Anxiety piled up in my senses as my hands quiver like it was certain, a picture that I saw when I took his phone out of his hands; his smile turned into disgust and annoyance; cursing me like a person without a name.

Of course I tried to understand and walk on his fragile ego balancing my clutch, Even I know I was a loser of a title; I definitely felt like I was the mistress.

He acted fool now that I know; I was explaining how we could resolve but he acted like a caught robber. He went berserk, irritated; spiraling into madness - about me taking his privacy away when I just caught him lying.

It felt like death without flowers

Having someone seemed like a happy ending before the dawn breaks in, before smiles became such bruises, was the only thing that made me feel one. Yet finding out he isn't feeling the same way for me, will be a prison in a lifetime.

Taking steps, a lot of questions in my hands, ready to throw at anytime.

But words turned to curses, and wishes became wasted chances. My voice stayed monotonous as a loud bang was heard like it was well-thought for a reason. Planned, for a specific role to be satiated. A gunshot loud enough for justice to be misheard.

Then, after the chaos and madness, there I was -- holding a hole in my chest that spills a lot of red stains from a shot I have taken out of his defense; an ending I won't forget.

As a wife, my duties never ended just yet. I felt the urge and need of getting the wipes to clean this mess, a rug to drain my blood off the carpet, a detergent to sweep this crime that my husband has made.

I never received anything from him. Not even a flower, but at least the other woman has--

Not even I was laying there, swimming on a red sea, staring at the ceiling...

Waiting for my heartbeat for him, for this house, for this lifetime to end.

--

The sun came up behind the hill

while I die without flowers, still.