Everything was out of place now-a-days. Things were jumbled up and people thought they’d never get them right.
Things- people- changed into things they weren’t supposed to be, ways they weren’t supposed to act.
And, god, I felt the irony, the painful irony, in this. As I had spent my days, wasting my life away wishing for him, that boy I loved, there he sat, wishing, hoping, dying just as I had.
He’d spent forever painting that wall, growing the grass on the dirt floor of the room, waiting for the perfect sunny day to open the windows and feel the breeze.
Ivan sat there, on the grass floor, staring at the mural of the sunflower fields. He hugged his legs to his chest and his eyebrows arched painfully into a sad, sad frown.
But that was just a dream. Neither of us could have what we wanted, whether it be flowers…or love.
Because our dreams were just too damn out of place.
