A Familiarity for Lilacs

A Familiarity for Lilacs (The Refreshment)

It was almost like we were real lovers today. No, not at all; that’s not what I meant; we have always been like real lovers.
Today, it had a bit of tenderness to it, a certain amount of familiarity. They say familiarly is the anchor that will crush down your heart, but on you, it felt new, like a crisp white man’s t-shirt straight out the dryer.
Oh! On you it felt like I was lying in warm clothes, breathing in lilacs. Lilacs are like the two of us, barely living before they are dying.
But the thing is the lilacs always die, every year almost before your nose can be surrounded by their very fragrant light, every year, after two to three minor weeks, they began to die.
They never all live together, some are on their way out before their partner even blooms.
But the other thing is; we aren’t going to die. Not yet. I still believe deep down that there is some hope for you. And even when I said I didn’t have any for me, and when I really told myself that I didn’t have any at all for you…
Even the crickets, even the computer drums you use in love songs to prescription drugs, even the mandatory bottle of wine; they all knew I was lying.
Hope always lives, doesn’t it? In a way, don’t the lilacs come back every year?



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