Hanahaki disease: a fictional disease, in which the victim coughs up flower petals after suffering from one-sided love.
You pick up sunflowers on the way home. They’re bright in your hand, gently swaying in the wind, a reminder of a comfort and happiness you yearn to feel with them.
Your fingertips brush against the softness of the petals. They curl towards you, welcoming to the touch. You wish it was your fingertips running through their hair, grazing their cheek, and resting against the palm of their hand. The petals curl away, and you place the flowers by the window.
Love isn’t fair. You know it well by now. The blood-stained petals lying gracefully by the toilet seat are a reminder. It’s ironic, how a nightmare to some looks so beautiful to you. Love is bloody. Love is hard.
Sunflowers are supposed to make you happy, yet looking at the mess of sunflower petals in front of you only leaves a sense of remorse.
It was never supposed to be this way.
You were supposed to love me, just as much as I love you.
The constant puking of petals hurt, but that was a given. What hurt more was the fact that they never smiled because of you. That they never considered you something more. That every-time you looked at them like they were the stars in the sky, you were only in the darkness. Love is unfair. Love is cruel.
You supposed that the petals were a well-deserved punishment. After all, how could you be so foolish? How could you fall head-over-heels for someone as lovely, as beautiful? You didn’t deserve love; but, maybe love didn’t deserve you.
You leave the petals scattered in the washroom. You aren’t ashamed of them like you once were. Love be damned. Sunflowers may be bright, but they could never cure the love blooming inside of you.
Let the love grow. Let the love blossom.
Love is beautiful. Love clutches at your throat. Love is in the flowers in your hand.
Maybe, in a better life, you could be happy with them in a valley of flowers. You imagine them with a sunflower tucked behind their ear. You smile in bliss.
For now, you remain in your own valley of bloody petals. The sunflowers by the window wilt away, as you do with it.