Flower

I have been holding onto a flower for so long. A rare flower. So rare that I manage to meet it a little more than half a decade. I have decided to treasure it so much like a diamond. The petals are pale, looking everly fragile, but it has a robust stem to support it. The way it shines under the sun, glows under the moon, has always brightened my days and night.

And yet, I release it.

I release it...

I see it falls from my grasp, and touches the ground elegantly. My hands are empty now, free from the flower. My palm can finally sweat freely. My fingers can finally breathe the air after crunching in for so long. It is the best feeling of my hand ever felt.

...

...

...

But then, now I realise, I have been staring at my hands for too long.

I didn't see how the petals wrinkle when it was in my palm and yet still bloom beautifully.

I didn't see how the stem remain strong and absorb my sweat when it was in my palm.

I didn't see how the petals fall off when I release it and when it touches the ground.

I didn't see how much sadness it tries to hide by trying to shine off one last light.

I didn't see...

I didnt' see my tears rolling in my eyes...

...

I bend down, pick up the flower, blow the dust, caress the petals, saying:

"I'll never leave you again. Ever..."

A special post for a special someone from the unspecial me