Would you have wanted a last swim in the sea instead?
You would've hated the flowers;
They were pink, white, and yellow,
Pretty and neat.
Not like the injured birdies,
You scooped into your callused palms,
And nurtured till they squawked,
Like self-entitled flirts,
Or died in your arms.
You would've hated the music;
It was upbeat, fitting,
And in honor of you.
Not like the sad, dystopian love songs,
That speaks of regrets,
our world still hasn't met,
Which you would always remix,
With pots, spoons, and pans.
You would've cringed at me;
I cried and sniveled and wanted you by my side.