Fleur

From a gap in the clouds floating in the sunset-colored sky,
a wonderous light was stretching towards me.
A figure could be seen inhaling the air,
not yet noticing the flower.

Like one who had been awakened to reality,
the figure was concealed in a blinding light.
The figure left her body to a small bird's whisper.
She could not feel that she had been wounded deeply.
Flowers bloomed within the clouds,
but a memory, tinted in sepia,
was reflecting the silent sky all the while.

At about this time,
I embraced the fragility within her emotions.
I had an even more painful longing for the colors of the sky.
It was your desire.
You were happy before your vision became tainted with wounds.
It was okay to give just a little,
but it was still too late.
It was truly at this time and place
that I took your hand and drew you near me.
We still cannot go back to that moment?

That morning is so far away.
The sunset colors that you painted are even more painful to convey.
It is also more painful to try and forget
those wounded memories than it is to gather them.
If there is anything that I can do now,
then I will give you that flower.
(in the flower...in the flower...)
I will hold this withered flower,
and color myself with it.
A sepia-colored past...