hyacinthus was a divine hero.
he was beautiful, brave, and bold.
he was loved and cherished by apollo,
who taught him the lyre and prophecies and archery.
the west wind had his heart on hyacinthus too.
but, seeing his love with apollo made him writhe in agony,
heave in pain,
and cramp in distress.
green oozed out of his finger tips as the west wind saw them play with a discus.
with his heart in his throat and jealousy seated on his brain,
he made the discus slice through hyacinthus’ face.
no modern or ancient cure could stop the warm, carnal, pulsating wound.
like rubies they flowed down to touch the morning dew,
mingling to harbour a bittersweet scent.
but, as they kissed apollo’s golden fingertips,
the gems turned into sweet petals.
purples and pinks and whites littered the green,
creating a cacophony of stars.
each petal of a hyacinth,
cherished in apollo’s grief.
a hyacinth sits on your doorstep.
the long journey has wilted some petals,
and cracked the green stems from my anxiety.
i miss you.
i miss the way your eyes held conversation.
i miss the way your smile showed me hope.
i miss the way your fingers showed me love.
a hyacinth sits on your doorstep.
the long journey has wilted some petals,
and revealed the insides from my picking.
i miss you.
i miss the innocence you were embed in.
i miss the comfort you allowed me to relish in.
i miss the warmth you gave me.
a hyacinth sits on your doorstep.
the long journey has wilted some petals,
and the green has started to turn murky.
i miss you
and it seems i have forgotten you.
the hyacinth that you had gifted before you were gone,
sat on my desk for the past four months.
each fall of the petal held my grief
my regret
my tears for you.
pick up each petal,
and concentrate on it for a moment.
in the dying veins you will see,
how angst was ebbing through.
freely.
meticulously.
gracefully.
like apollo i roamed the fields,
in search of you my hyacinthus.
like apollo you were my first love,
my hyacinthus.
like apollo each petal has savoured in my grief,
my hyacinth.
the west wind had dressed up that day,
silver chains glittered his neck and wrists.
wet curls fell onto his forehead.
and his eyes,
those damned eyes.
it was the last thing you saw.
just like the discus he threw in his last life,
you were destroyed by a broken promise.
but as i focus on these petals,
i realise that your memories are chasing the angst away.
your first friend, your favourite food, your boba order.
your dreams and aspirations and goals that you worked so hard to carve a path,
nestle in these veins.
you taught me how to be patient,
you taught me how to love myself,
you taught me how to be dedicated and empathetic and confident.
the hyacinth that rests on your doorstep,
means many things.
it’s a
hope
prayer
prophecy
to keep you.
to allow you to live longer.
it’s a
regret
excuse
apology
for leaving you
with the torture.
it’s a
wish
desire
ambition
that we will meet again,
and i’ll save you.
you are my first love,
and for that i am grateful.