Tempted | Kai Parker

forty one: flowers

There were certain particular aspects of nature that we all attributed to the first signs of spring.

For some people it might be the sun brightly bursting into the sky a little earlier each morning and hanging around a little later each night. For others, it was the first taste of warm weather. Or perhaps it was the budding bloom of brightly coloured flowers.

This morning when I looked out of my window, I could've been fooled into thinking that springtime had arrived. Because enclosed within the four walls of my bedroom, it really did seem as though it had.

The sun was bright, not a single cloud blemished the sky, and I could've almost sworn I could feel the suns beams glowing on my skin even through my window.

In fact, if I hadn't have known it was February - I would've been certain that it was spring.

But when you stepped outside, the world was littered with tell-tale signs that we were still in the midst of winter.

The sun which I had thought would feel so warm against my skin, did nothing to heat the bitter air. The trees around me were still skeletons without their leaves. And the only flowers which bloomed for miles around were the multi coloured bunch I clenched in my trembling fingertips.

And I had bought them for a reason. I had bought them to place down. But I couldn't seem to find the strength to let them go. Almost thirty minutes had passed, and I just couldn't seem to pry them from my grasp.

But I knew it was time.

I pulled a shaky breath through my lips, and crouched down onto my knees, gently placing the bouquet down on the grass.

Right in front of a cold grey headstone which read:

'HERE LIES JAMES WALKER

BELOVED FATHER

1968 - 2013'

And as I forced myself back on top of my jittery legs, I looked down at the headstone, forcing my lips into a faint smile which certainly didn't reflect the pain which was brewing deep inside of me.

"Dad, I don't know what to say." I uttered, softly shaking my head at the stone. "I was so terrified of living without you, that I did something really awful."

And as I felt the painful nip of tears pricking the back of my eyes, I sunk my teeth into my lip and softly placed my hand on top of the cold gravestone.

"I was a horrible person, Dad." I croaked. "I did some really terrible things to the people I love - and I wasn't the little girl you were so proud of."

"And I - I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to make it better." I breathed. "I just wish you were here so you could help me. I just want your advice, Dad. I miss you so much."

Battling the sobs which tried to escape me, I sucked in my lower lip, scrunching my eyes tight together.

I just needed to get through this.

I needed to say what I had to say.

"I know what you thought of me. You thought I was a perfect daughter, an honourable daughter - someone to be proud of." I nodded. "But I wasn't that person - and the more I've thought about it, I don't know if I ever really was that person."

I gave a small pause as I forced my lips into a half-hearted smile.

"But I want to be." I whispered. "I will be - for you. I promise, Dad, I'm going to make this up to you."