I met you as a seedling. Roots as delicate as snow. Released from a pistil into this fragile world of big feet, stomping around relentlessly around me. Stomp, stomp, STOMP. They crash around me, unaware that I am here. No one stops to look down… No one had a care.
In Summer’s heat I was meant to thrive. His healing hands created to keep me alive, but I was tossed aside… Alone and afraid. My roots struggled to find steady ground. Too cold, too hot, too hard, too soft. And suddenly, there was you.
My roots tucked in, however thin, to the upward curve between your lips, the way your belt wraps around your hips, and how your hair falls to one side. How your skin was smooth like Summer’s sun. And warmth inside me, had begun.
My body stayed wrapped tightly in a twirl. But every laugh that spilled like liquid gold from a special place, softened my overbearing embrace. A seed should not grow in night, but you projected the warmest of light. As you held me close, and closer still, until I wasn’t feeling alone anymore.
You told me your fears and insecurities and instantly knew mine. The difference between how some stars align. And my design was fascinating to you. I know in the end, you were just alone too. You told me how being a flower was hard. How beauty is perception, one not all see the same. And how eventually I would learn how to play this game.
You protected me when I was small and weak. Watered me down when I couldn’t face the heat. Sang me songs that I had never knew. How much I wished I could open up for you.
Winter came, and you left me too. But my roots had become too strong in you. And I waited as the days turned to months, as your smiles faded in pace with the snow, and the sun began to shine, but not with the glow of your smile.
Still a measly young sprout, the wind carried me over mountains, oceans and plains, to a land I thought we could remain. I bloomed alone, on the darkest of nights, after death, I came to be. Nothing can care for this flower except for me.
A flower born in darkness, thrives in darkness, they say. And I hope I can see you again one day. Because now that I’ve bloomed, there’s nothing much left. Except to droop back to where my roots are kept.