I usually write about the people and memories which matter to me the most.
I write about them while constantly questioning if those people feel the same way.
Or if those memories would ever slip away.
Today I’m not worried about my feelings being reciprocated.
I’m not worried about our memories ever fading.
For the first time I’m writing about the person who genuinely confuses me in whether I care more for her, or her for me.
Teta, autumn has been mean. I praise it and write about its grandeur every year.
This year, it let us both down.
Your high spirits have gone missing and I’ve been looking for them everywhere.
There’s only little I can do, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do right now.
I witnessed my flower being tugged from its roots and placed in a water bowl.
I’m trying to provide it with as much care as I possibly can but see, a flower doesn’t survive without its roots and I know it’ll be just a matter of time.
But I also know that as long as my flower still has one living petal, I’ll make it feel loved with all my power.
I’ll be by her side as she wilts, just as she was by my side when I blossomed.
Teta, who will make those warm knitted sweaters?
Who will cook me a meal for five?
Who will read my coffee mug for hours and then persuade me to never believe in superstitions?
Who will wake me up in the middle of the night to light a candle for good luck?
Who will give me the best home remedies every time I get sick?
I wish I had slept over more often. We watched TV religiously and I would let you trick me into eating everything you could offer.
My flower is unique. She has lived through more upheavals than I can imagine.
She saved lives, raised good souls, and loved everyone the best way she knew how.