Daisies

The window keeps calling to me. I struggle to ignore it.

The daisies are dying and I feel as if it is all my fault. They cannot survive on salt water, can they? They cannot survive rejection, can they? I'm pretty sure I am dying as well. I feel too sleepy now, too weak to move. I struggle to lift my hand and feel my face, to see if I'm still alive or not, but it doesn't move when I will it to. I twitch often, but not because I want to, not on any sort of impulse. My movements are jerky and random, and I cannot stand on my own two feet anymore.

I lie on the cold white floor and gaze up at the watery white ceiling, watching the tears as they drip into my eyes. They reflect off of the light in the room and the white walls around me, making the droplets look like milk. Milky tears.

I am emotionless now, not feeling anything anymore. I never felt anything before, but now it's different. I don't even feel things on the inside. Thoughtless? No, more as if I cannot control my thoughts. My thoughts speak to me instead of me speaking to them. It feels strange, and abnormal. I don't like this at all.

I look down at the daisies. My eyes strain to the left, as the bouquet lays at my side, just out of reach of my fingertips. The daisies are growing brown around the edges and I watch in silent, expressionless horror as one lone petal falls off, drifting to the white floor before it seems to disappear, evaporate into the air. I wonder how it happens, and if I can disappear as well. It would be nice.

I drift off into as uneasy sleep, but dreams do not come. I wonder sometimes if reality has finally left me, left every part of me behind.

I'm getting worse. I know that I am dying now. It does not hurt, no, I feel nothing. But my eyes will not open, and when they do, it is not on my own accord. They flutter rapidly before shutting themselves once again. I catch small glimpses of the white room, but it does not look so white anymore. It looks duller, more gray. I wonder if it isn't just my vision seeing these changes.

Soon, my breathing becomes choked and my fingers ache for the daisies. Where are they? I cannot see them anymore. I think they have died.

I die along with them.

And then, oh, and then I wake up.