Flowers Are Made to Wilt

Relationships are—in the way they fill you with joy and warmth—synonymous with a warm cup of coffee. However, every cup must run dry. It is a heartbreaking rite of passage to understand that nothing is eternal. The relationships you have now will end eventually. There are no tricks to make it last forever. It is destiny. It is biology. It is unchangeable. It is, simply, the ephemerality of life.

Growing up, I was well-versed in the impermanence of life. The man who introduced me to reading did not get to see me write my own compositions. Most of my friendships ended when I relocated from Nigeria to Canada, and before moving on to high school, no place had really known my name long enough for it to be my home. Despite these experiences, I choose to live in constant appreciation of every moment.

This mindset, however, does not stop past friendships from haunting me like teenage spectres. They do not just sit idly in the abandoned attic of my unconscious but roam around, from the words I speak to the movies I watch. They have settled into the very crevice of my being. My soul is doomed to forever be intertwined with theirs, in a briefly gorgeous yet sorrowful dance.

Nobody talks about the gut-wrenching shift from knowing every last detail about a friend to occasionally catching a glimpse into their hazy lives through an Instagram post. It crawls under my skin with wraithlike ease. I truly cannot fathom how people who once claimed to cherish me could look so elated without me in their lives.

A chat box with the most recent message dated back nine months. An unsent poem collecting dust underneath my bed, once eagerly written for a loved one. An abandoned bracelet that hasn’t adorned my wrist in years. Every part of my life is filled with solemn remembrance of distant laughter, expired secrets, and a yearning for reconnection. With a million unforgettable memories, I often find myself asking,“If I can recall every detail of you, how could you have forgotten the space I once filled in your life?” And as I get older, the question has grown branches, spreading off into thought after thought, reflection after reflection, and revelation after revelation. Soon, the question evolved into, “How do I forget you too?”

The easy answer came in the form of a supposed “emotional armour”. My master plan was that for every relationship I felt was stretching thin, I would sever our connection, like a knight in battle, before they got the chance to do it first—a noble sacrifice I claimed to need for sustenance. I built fortresses in the name of safety from a burdensome siege, but in turn, hindered myself from forging new connections.

Despite these stone-hard walls, past relationships still haunted me. I pretended none of them mattered, because if they could move on from me that effortlessly, then I had to prove that I could too.

Before long, the pretentious indifference snowballed into a one-sided grudge. I held a grudge against those who had left me. I blamed myself for trusting them. And I resented the force that brought them to me for the purpose of ruthlessly desecrating my heart. At least, that was what I told myself so I could sleep without aching for a once-upon-a-time.

I had a friend whose friendship was one of my most cherished possessions. Our relationship was built on mutual support, respect, and loyalty. I admired his paintings. He adored my poems. Everything about him that once brought a smile to my face felt like a two-edged dagger stabbing my frail heart into tiny shards. How does one simply forget someone who impacted their soul in such an immeasurable way?

When speaking about the frustrations of a concluded friendship, I was quicker to emphasize the hurt than I was to reflect on the lovely memories we shared. Instead, I harboured such bitterness toward him. I was left with the impression that he had abandoned the friendship. 

One day, I recalled old conversations with him. It felt like watching a rose in blossom while acknowledging its imminent wilting.

Yes, the rose died. 

But its beauty did not. 

Many times, I find myself missing our friendship. But I have come to understand that life pulls us all in many directions, and not everyone who was there at the beginning of the ride will be there when the ride is nearly over.

Writing about this topic has taught me that experiencing the grief that comes with loss—in any and every form—only means that it once was a source of joy, peace, and balance. If it once felt special, it does not need to lose that sentiment.

Everyone who has ever crossed paths with you was purposefully inserted there. And even if they do not stay long enough to see you achieve your dreams, you must learn to continue in your love for them, nonetheless. I appreciate the light that I received from even the shortest of friendships, but it is so important to perceive these things not as hurt, but as a piece of who you have grown into.

You will meet new people. You will grow new gardens. You will learn to admire the beauty of the rose without despising its approaching demise.

So, do not let the loss of a lovely relationship keep you from experiencing other lovely things. As long as you are alive, the past will live and breathe through you. Therefore, be grateful for the fleeting moments. Live purposefully and love boundlessly to avoid regrets when time runs out.

These ephemeral seasons are fragments of our souls that are rooted deeper than they may seem. In their very essence, they are roses that bloom and wilt in their own time.