If I die of a broken heart, burn me.
Do not lay me down on the earth only to decay. I would not let a tree grow from where my body was laid to rest. I am selfish. No creature should grow from me except you. You. You. Only you. Scatter my ashes like rose petals on the bed where we made love. Or under the light of the moon where we first kissed. Or inside the lofty forest where we glared at those who tried to break our vows. Oh love, the vows. Do you still remember how they came out of our lips like music none but us could sing?
“I will kill those who try to take you away from me. And tear them apart and burn them. I will burn them. Do you hear me? I will burn them!”
And under the tallest of trees and the distant sun, over the lowest of stones and the heat of the earth, you burned me.
Just like you promised.
And I was grateful.
Words by Maria
Photo by April Escarcha