Amaranth

14

        "Amaranth."

        "Yes?"

        "No, I mean Amaranth is my favorite flower. I hope you won’t forget," he teased lightly as he stood in front on her.

        "I won't forget."

        "I know."

        "I'll be here when you're ready."

        "I know.

        He took a breath and looked away from her, at the sight of everything around her. He was looking at life, a marvel he had once beheld in short increments. It seemed different now and not so different at all.

        Well,” he sighed, not knowing how to continue or leave off.

        "Until we say hello again?" she suggested.

        "Until we say hello again," he confirmed.

        Once he passed through those iron gates, he was left with a faint memory of what was. He lived the rest of his counting days as he was meant to, and when he was ready, he returned at last.

        He had forgotten her. He had finally accepted death, his lifelong mortality. It was an irony he would have laughed at many years ago when he sat in the graveyard wishing she would disappear. But now he had the rest of eternally to laugh about it because he had been prepared and at the same time not prepared at all.

        Amaranth, his favorite flower, sat by him every day. He wasn't forgotten. He was remembered.

        The living went on remembering their loved ones. Those who chose to live and love would find those loved ones on their visits. The cycle continued. As long as they had loved ones, a part of them lived on.

        Her name was Amaranth, and she didn't give people immortality, she gave people something to live for, and when they were ready, she stopped visiting them. She was remembered by those alive and forgotten by the dead.

        She was Amaranth.

The End

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Dedicated to those who have lost loved ones and to those who are afraid of not being able to live.

November 28, 2014