Sunshine

The little boy, still wearing his dungarees, ran uphill to pick up a few sunflowers. Those were his favourite. He’d never fail to remember how his friends loved them too, even though it had been a while since they had last talked to each other. Crouching, he observed each and every yellow petal and brown seed. What would ******* have thought of their shape today? What about ******? Come to think of it, he would have really liked to ask ***. Then, their names needed to fade in the background, like white noise. What a difficult task to move on after so many years; he lied down on the grass reminiscing on what he had to forget. However, today’s pain came without tears. He had to let go. Looking at the flowers he had gathered, he slowly opened his hand; the wind took them away. He had made a choice. After having faithfully visited the memories of what was and what could have been every day, he had started to come back only twice a week. In that manner, he had elongated the fabric of time and space, while still warped by the obligations only he felt bound to. As he watched those sunflowers disappear from his sight, he gave one last sigh – he would not keep his promises, after all. He was giving up for the sake of living beyond where he thought life would end.