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Wildflowers
The pale morning sunlight falls softly on what was once our field. It warms my skin, my fragile petals, and my leaves gently unfurl even more to greet this cherished delight. Even the wind is gentle on this quiet morn, feeling like thousands of soft warm kisses against my fragile form. There is but a few clouds in the sky, my love. The rest is that deep blue that you so much enjoyed.
I remember your simplicity, darling, but in that was beauty; your long graceful stem, your soft olive shaded leaves. Your pleasant white petals always seemed to be so much brighter than even the sun. I can even still feel the smoothness of them when on those few occasions we would touch. But most of all, I miss your bright yellow eye, that ugly core surrounded by elegance and beauty. I would look at that and see your desire for dreams, for aspirations, for life. That simple yellow iris, rough and powdery showed who you really were, that and all your imperfections.
I loved you for it.
I always knew if you weren’t rooted to the ground you would fly away like those clouds floating away above us; letting the wind carry you where it will, gently and quietly without complaint.
Our roots were tangled together, the wind whispered, like a matted knot, bound and trapped. I did not see it that way though, dear, I saw it as a reassurance, always having you by my side. I wouldn’t have wished for it any other way.
The day they built that wall was the end of bliss I suppose. Things have never been quite the same with the large bricks, stacked one on top of the other, high in-between us. I no longer see your delicate features anymore, that bright inspiring eye showcasing what it meant to live.
I remember pushing against those rocks, trying to create a gap in the cracks in which I would be able to simply get a glimpse. I remember growing into the dark crevices that were barely there. It only brought more harm to myself. I still remember the desperation, the loss, the confusion. Even your soft perfume could not reach me.
The wind would occasionally blow by me, sending me tidings. They would whisper only more news that left me in devastation. They told me about the sunlight not being able to reach you, about the rains being too insufficient. I refused to believe them until I felt your roots start to wither away from mine. I felt you dying. Never was the pain as much as it was then, for I had all the sunlight I needed, all the rain. I would have gave you all I had. For I kept growing knowing that you would not be able to do the same.
Though like a ray of sunlight in a dark overcast day, child’s laughter could be heard ringing throughout our field. I could feel the reverberations of the child’s footsteps steadily growing closer. I heard them stop, and soon I felt your roots being pulled away from mine.
“Pretty,” I heard it speak. Then I felt it turn around and trot away, a small skip in its step, taking you with it.
You were gone, I knew, never to return, never to be tangled once more with me. But I couldn’t help but feel hope that you would be planted in one of those beautiful gardens designed for flowers like you. There you would get all the sunlight and water you needed. Or maybe even, you, unbound from the earth, would rise above us all and fly away, just like you always talked about doing. Maybe even then, I would see you once more, you with your bright yellow iris.
Until then, I will grow and live life, have dreams, have aspirations. And maybe then, I might even be picked like you were, to spread my beauty into others lives. For what better dream is that, to create happiness.
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