Sometimes

Sometimes, there is so much going on that it is almost impossible to express any feeling. There is a point when all emotions implode and the mind becomes filled with static. I had to reclaim my life and my garden.

You planted so many roses and over the years they bloomed ever expanding outward. Did I tell you I hate roses. Did I tell you that I'd rather live in a city near the ocean than in a pampered garden. You thought I'd like the roses. Out of a twisted sort of kindness I said nothing.

Now, I want you to know that I'd rather walk across the Brooklyn Bridge or stand at the top of the Empire State Building and look out over the city, cold and concrete, than look at your roses.

BTW. I went out into the garden and cut each bush to the quick with my bare hands, enduring the thorns and treasuring each scratch as a momento of removing the last vestige of you from my chaotic life.