Everyone choses buds at the florist's because they think they will bloom tomorrow...in their arms. The flowers are already full, left matured, left complete. They will wither tomorrow, their petals lying here and there. Soft, yet so unwanted...so uncared for. No one wants the flowers therefore, because someone else has flowered them, someone else has made them bloom.
I have often complained about not having love in my life. I had forgotten or rather never realised that I was never taken because someone else had made me bloom already. Not a kiss, never a hug, not even a touch and yet he had flowered me...possibly with his pain! And then somewhere along the roads of life, he dropped me, flowered and yet his love making my existance so beautiful. I was picked up by a kind man...an emodiment of all that is good, just and beautiful in this world. He put me in a vase, safe, protected...and I thought maybe I am yet to bloom. Perhaps yes, perhaps no, perhaps I am going to scatter in petals and he is going to throw me away, to make place for a fresh bud. But I hope my petals, dry they maybe, shall reach the grave of my love.