The other flower

I'm standing next to you in the bus.
Your silence is so heavy my shoulders hurt.
I just can't stop thinking of what you said.
My breath is fighting itself between numb and violent.
I look at your hands as they stand unmoved on your lap.
Your jacket touches my elbow softly and unaware.
Your legs are swinging under the chair as you whistle quietly.
I can't stand it anymore and I turn my head nervously.
You look at me and take my hand.
We get off the bus and you hold my cheeks and caress them with your warm fingers.
You assure me that everything is OK now, that you know it hurts.
You promise the light will always follow us if we really want it.
You tell me that I will always be your summer flower however dark the winter is.
But I take your hand and leave you with the other flowers.