Little Petal

There he was frozen in time , forever young and beautiful , trapped in this frame for all time , was the man he had always wanted to be. I would sometimes stare at this picture , time would go by and i couldn't tell if it had been minutes or hours . there were moments where i would catch myself smiling and muttering at the picture as if by doing so I could conjure up some vague ghostlike memory come to life, just long enough for me to say , how are you , I'm sorry, I miss you.
The picture would always remain silent and smiling eternally back at me , and sometimes that's all that I  needed. It sucks the way hindsight works , only giving you the information you need long after the fact. Long after you have gone and blundered and fumbled your way through something that , if handled properly , could have been something really cool. But  that's why they call it hindsight , and it still really sucks.
Blundering and fumbling are what I do best , especially when it comes to things as delicate as he was. I once had a cashmere sweater, i had received for Christmas from an aunt. I loved it , it was so soft and it fit so well , I promised to take such good care of it. A week later I had ripped it climbing a tree and when I tried to fix it, I poked myself with a sewing needle and dripped blood all over it, which lead to me washing it , which then became a laundry disaster and after it was all over , I no longer had a cashmere sweater. But I had a picture of me wearing it the day I got it.
It's like people you try to be in love with should come with care instructions, somewhere on them , there should be a label that says , very delicate, handle with care, don't ever diminish or yell at , or abandon in any way , not even to move the car when the parking is expired. It should say something like that.
Instead you have to consider everyone to be something of a minefield of emotional surprises, everyday is like getting a new jack in the box delivered to your house and when the box opens after a very long suspenseful wind up, blam in your face , all the emotional shrapnel and baggage blows up , leaving you to pick up the pieces , until the next day, when your new jack in the box shows up.
I'm really to blame , I have this warped sense of obligation which leads me to take on other people's problems , even when I have enough trouble taking care of my own . It's a way of avoiding  my own shit.
With that said , I don't own anymore delicate washables, or glassware, houseplants,  white pants, or guys who need extra special delicate handling. And it's better that way.