sorry

Ah i don't think i will be able to write today, my brain isn't working cause i am too tired today, so you can skip, or read a short story.

Sunflower in winter

In the sleepy town of Maple Hollow, winter came like a hush—soft and white, pressing silence over snow-covered streets and bare trees. It was the kind of town where time slowed, where people grew up with the same faces in every memory, and where summer felt like a distant dream when December rolled in.

Eli remembered every summer he’d ever spent with Mira Blake.

She was the girl next door with the sunflower eyes—gold-flecked hazel that seemed to catch the sun—and a laugh that always came just before his did. They had grown up like wildflowers: freely, side by side, unshaped by time, bound by countless shared days under the sun.

Now, at twenty-three, Mira still wore the same beat-up Converse and a camera around her neck, always looking for something beautiful to capture. And Eli? Eli was still hopelessly in love with her.

But he’d never told her.

Not when they were kids and she’d leaned her head on his shoulder during backyard movie nights.

Not when they were teens and she’d kissed him on the cheek one rainy afternoon and said, “You’re my forever friend.”

Not when she came back from college early last year and said she wasn’t going back.

Eli hadn’t asked why. He hadn’t needed to. The way her energy dimmed, how she grew quieter, and how she sometimes stared into the distance like she was somewhere else—all of it answered questions he didn’t have the courage to voice.

Still, he stayed beside her.

It was on the first snowfall of December when Eli decided he couldn’t keep the truth in any longer.

He found her at the hill behind the library, where the town’s only view of the valley spread wide and beautiful. Mira was perched on the old wooden bench with a thermos of tea and a half-filled sketchpad.

“You always find me,” she said without turning, sensing his presence like she always did.

Eli sat beside her. “Because I always look.”

She smiled, but he noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly as she drew.

“Your hands okay?” he asked gently.

She quickly pulled her sleeves over them. “Just cold.”

But it wasn’t just the cold. He knew it wasn’t.

“Mira…” he began, voice cracking under the weight of what he had carried too long. “I need to tell you something.”

She finally turned toward him. Her eyes were soft. Expectant.

“I love you,” he said.

And there it was. Bare and shivering in the cold air between them.

Her breath caught. She didn’t speak. For one long second, her gaze dropped to his hands—brave, nervous, clenched in his lap—and then back up to his face.

“Eli…” she whispered, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” His voice was quiet, almost hurt. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. I waited for the right time but maybe there’s never a perfect one. So I’m saying it now.”

Mira blinked away tears and stood, pulling her coat tighter. “You shouldn’t have said that,” she repeated.

And then, without another word, she walked away.

Eli watched her figure disappear into the falling snow, too stunned to follow.

He didn’t know that would be the last time he’d see her.

The next morning, she was gone.

No one had seen her. Her car was still in the driveway. Her phone was off. Her room was neat, almost too neat, as though someone had cleaned every last trace of themselves from it.

But on her bed was a single letter.

And a bouquet of sunflowers.

The letter was addressed to him.

Dear Eli,

I wish I had the courage to tell you everything. But some truths are harder to speak than silence.

I’ve been sick for a while now. Not the kind of sick that gets better with time. The doctors stopped giving me calendars; they started giving me comfort.

That’s why I came back home. I didn’t want to spend what time I had left in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines. I wanted to be here, with you, where things were warm and familiar and real.

You gave me more good days than anyone ever could. And that’s why I couldn’t let you fall in love with someone who was already halfway gone.

But I suppose I was too late.

If I’d stayed after you said those words, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. And I have to leave now, while I still can. Before things get worse. Before you have to watch the colors fade from my eyes.

I’m sorry. I love you too. I always did.

These sunflowers… they’re the only flowers I could find that remind me of summer. Of you.

Remember me that way.

Always,

Mira

Eli read the letter in silence, snow still clinging to his jacket, his gloves soaked with melted flakes. The sunflowers on the bed were slightly wilted, but golden still—defiant against the winter.

He didn’t cry at first. Not right away.

He went outside. Walked past the houses, the empty streets, the hill where she used to sit. Every step echoed with memories, and every corner whispered her name.

It wasn’t until he stood in the field behind the church—the one that turned into a wildflower meadow in spring—that he let the tears come.

And he didn’t stop until the sun sank low behind the trees.

Weeks passed. The snow thickened. But Mira was never found.

Her family filed reports. The town searched the woods, the hills, the frozen riverbanks. No trace. No trail.

Some said she had gone off to a hospital in another state. Others whispered she’d gone to the sea, to watch her last sunrise. Some believed she had simply disappeared into the snow, like a ghost wrapped in white.

But Eli believed something else.

He believed she left while she could still choose how her story ended. Not in pain, not in pity—but in love.

And every year after, on the first snow of December, Eli climbed the hill behind the library. He sat on the old wooden bench, a thermos of tea in one hand, and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other.

He left the flowers there.

For her.

Even in winter, they said, the sunflowers returned.

No one knew how.

But Eli did.

Because love, when true, blooms even in the coldest season.

And somewhere, he believed, Mira still carried a piece of summer in her heart.

Just as he carried her in his.

Forever.

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