Perfection

I watch as the flames lick at the paper and the bouquets of flowers, devouring them eagerly.

We used to pick flowers and yet, they all seemed to thrive only when you were around.

Now, the field seemed barren, the flowers wilting so slightly.

The flames.

They were like you.

Angry. Depressed. Hungry for more.

You used to be that girl who would dance among the flowers, petals collecting at your feet.

Yet the pursuit of perfection killed you, changed you. It made things seem so far away, made you more greedy, lifeless, less... you.

You turned everyone away, eyes only trained on perfection. Even me.

As usual, perfection claimed you, when you were finally about to push it away.

It made you perfect by erasing your existence.

And so... I lost you.