I’ve been struggling at this, and I think I’ve got it now, my Mrs.
Flowers flatly fell to the ground that night, that night when that light, that hot garage light lit our love. That night when the wind washed the trees, swept the leaves, and cooled July to our comfort–we both remarked on it that night, remember?
You remember, don’t you? Promises abandoned but no harm just laughs, nervous, socially agreeable laughs. We laughed about how we always said we’d stop promising but kept on with it, how we kept wasting time, to translate. Seeds budded, falling flat. Falling flat but looking alive, promising, because we, you and I, were alive, promising.
But we’ve stayed together, and all that promise is gone. Now all we have are our fat, our regrets, our hopes of life beyond life, and each other.