daisy, an ode to you.

Ethereal Euphoria
Nov 3 · 5 min read

The universe has seized my Daisy.

When the departure was at hand, I should’ve thwart it, but the strength to thwart the departure is nowhere to be found that when you touched my hand, i gave you a smile.

“Sleep.”

There are plenty of words dangled into sentences I want to say, but that was the word that swing. The moment He greeted you and six feet under to pull you away, I shouldn’t have smiled, but hug you. If only my words could make the flower blossoms.

Keeping you by my side, watching your favorite sitcom on Thursday night. Giving me the feeling of your presence every morning, calling your name every time I wake up. Moving my body on the weekend, helping you do the chores, or more like bothering you by tickling your belly. Facing me while I made camomile tea in the afternoon for you. Caressing you every night before going to sleep, immersed in each other’s touch, skin touching accompanied by the blazing moon with the stars. My beautiful Daisy.

Now that you’re completely gone. I no longer felt the scent of your body, the strands of your hair falling on the pillow and the floor, and the smile you gave me while opening the curtain. My scented Daisy.

When people were still asleep, you were dancing in front of me without music, but your sweet humming tune. A sweet nocturnal that sleeps when I’m off to work in the morning. My sweet Daisy.

Like your favorite verse that sounds:

When people ask for a sweet dream, they forget that nightmare is preparing their worst plans.

I feel like you’re telling me now.

That I was too busy sinking my sweet dreams I had created through you, I forgot that God is choosing me an opition. So when I’m deep in my dream, He made me sink even more. He gave me the other choices I didn’t take; He took you and left me in my nightmares. My beautiful-damned Daisy.

One sunny afternoon with Cheek to Cheek who sings our feeling and its beautiful words took us into the future, jumping over what we have right now. This is also an option, where we choose to say our plans for the future rather than tomorrow.

“… as dancing cheek to cheek” you sang the lyrics while your fingers moved on my chest that wasn’t covered with any string, your fingers dancing there.

You stopped your finger, and laid your head on my chest.

“When you finish the book, who will be on the thank you page?”

Without thinking, I replied, “Daisy.”

“Me or the flower?”

“Daisy.”

“Ok.”

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“Who will you mention on your exhibition?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“No one else.”

“Only me?”

“Yes, because you have given me everything and if I were reborn, you will still be my thank you.”

Your warmth doesn’t leave any warm, your name doesn’t make any sense, and the feeling of yours slowly disappear. But why does your memory stay? As if you still want me to remember your presence when your name even no longer wants to be remembered. Like a polaroid of stranger taken on the street, a stranger among hundreds of people, and my eyes were immediately drawn to you like you were the only one: the memory stays, but the object doesn’t. My strange Daisy.

If you’re the one, why would He make you leave me nothing? Why would He bother giving me one when you don’t stay forever? How could I even feel your untouchable presence?

We always talk about the uncertain future that sounds bright and real for us. A future that means us doing many things together. A meaningful future means I’ll continue to make your camomile tea. A meaningful future means I’ll keep my eyes on you while tidying our messy closet. A future that feels like swimming in the clouds, impossible.

That afternoon amid fall, two weeks before the exhibition, the house was a bit messier than usual. Clothes piled up on chairs, curtains covered the house from the sun, dishes in the sink, and your body asleep in your painting room. You woke up and greeted me with your smile, and pale lips, hair sticking up from the ties, and folded nightgowns. Your face was white as if there was no blood under the skin. Something is up and weird, but I’m not sure. I thought it’s just because I’m not home for a week, it felt different.

It turned out that day was a reminder that the future we had arranged was as thin as a thread. That was the last time I saw you dancing and wrapping yourself in a curtain with a beautiful smile bathed in sunlight that began to rise.

“I miss the old us, I want us just like how we used to be where I prepared your breakfast, tidied your clothes, did the chores, and filled our home with music.”

“Daisy…”

“Both of us laughing like crazy. “

People said God is loving you so much that he picked you up faster, how could that be? Does He have any other way but to make you sleep unbreathing? Why did God give you a dead end instead of a T-junction? Is it true that God loves you?

A week after your departure, your exhibition was held, and people were cheering on your work. But I wasn’t there because it was like being lonely in a long-endless hallway, and I was alone. Lost.

I put the book on the bed, covered in yellow with a picture of daisy there, ​​and then walked out. Close the door very softly as if a figure of yours is sleeping under the blanket, and I didn’t want to wake you. Closing the door as closing the future that I had written with you.

“When you finish the book, who will be on your thank you page?”

That question rolled back along with Cheek to Cheek.

You, Daisy.

The book landed to the floor, it opened on the last page where it is written the ending of the book.

Even if the future is here, but you. Our parting came to a spring breeze blowing the petals of yours. We were beautiful in my story.

Thank you for loving me to the end of your breath. Thank you for giving me the feeling of being loved. Thank you for letting me screw up your short life. Thank you for the emptiness you incised when your presence was only light on canvas.

Thank you, Daisy.

Ethereal Euphoria

Written by

A mixture of long night, daydream, skipped an all-night dancing, and frustrating conversation.

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