What we have is a sporadic relationship.

A friendship in waves.

She calls me when she needs help.

I call her when I’m in desperate need of help,  

but I don’t always leave a voicemail. 

I keep holding onto our parasitic connection.

                                 But fields of flowers wilt in winter.

It was not always like this between us,

                                 However, dried flowers can’t be replanted.

She receives a last minute message from her mother.

Her grandparents are making a surprise visit into town.

A perfectly plausible problem to neglect our correspondence.

How many times does it take before it's not a surprise anymore?

I watch her filter through friends.

                                 She flutters from flower to flower.

But if it starts raining I’m here to use for shelter.

                                 Why, I ask myself, am I still letting her water a dead flower?

But I expect it at this point. 

“I know I’m flaky, but next time I will be there.”

Next time.

Will it come?

In her absence,

                                 I’m able to plant my own garden.

It flourishes. 

Maybe one day she won’t make her way back to me.

But I'll be here.

                                 Dead flowers are beautiful when preserved correctly.