This is my home. It’s where my roots are. I watch others come and go, but mostly they walk straight past without even noticing me. I’m happy here. This is where I belong. Well, if she was to show up again, I would leave with her in a rain drop. My soul belongs to her.
I remember when I was just a young sprout, short and skinny. When I look back, I can’t believe I survived to be who I am today. Every part of me was so weak then, any storm that blew over almost killed me. Some of my closest friends didn’t make it through those years. I miss them terribly, but as I’ve heard people say: “It’s the circle of life.” It’s a harsh way to put it, yet it’s the truth. I had to make sure to enjoy watching the people walking past me every day in case it was my last.
The first time I made a masterpiece was the happiest day of my life. It was pink, red and white, the most glorious painting out of all my friends! I stood strong and proud as I silently boasted about my accomplishment. Don’t tell the others, but the secret is waking up early. While you soak in the sun, all you have to do is visualize how amazing you want your painting to be. If they knew that, they might follow my lead, and I wouldn’t stand out as much. I don’t want that.
There came a day when I saw an angel. Her eyes were as blue as the sky that surrounded her head, and she was filled with such kindness that I immediately fell in love with her. She was beautiful with hair like the sun and a smile that could knock a tree over. I wish I knew her name so I could speak to her and tell her how I feel. I wanted to comfort her when she came and sat in front of me crying, no matter how impossible that was. She cried her eyes out until the man came and dragged her away, and I could do nothing.
She came often, but the blue and purple blotches covering her body kept increasing. It almost killed me, trying to make her happy as I kept standing straighter and creating more and more beautiful masterpieces. All I could do was hope that she would see me, and know that I was trying to encourage her. I wanted her to be as strong as I knew she could be. I had heard her voice, and I know for a fact there isn’t a song bird around that can compete. Maybe she got tired of looking at the river, but she stopped coming one day, and I haven’t seen her since.
The seasons come and go as I stay and watch the world move around me. I’m getting old, and can do nothing more than contemplate my life. I’m not ready to die. I don’t stand as straight and tall as I used to, and my paintings are fraying at the edges even with my young and healthy soul. However, no matter how much I think about this, I can’t accept the fact that death is coming with the next blizzard. It’s a fact I know deep inside of myself. I won’t last through another season. To think that I might slowly wilt and wrinkle until I shrivel up and disappear into the earth disgusts me. I’m better than that.
She’s here.
I stand just a little straighter, as straight as I really can. She has black running down her face as she cries out and walks my way. It’s late in the evening, what is she doing here? It’s not the safest time for her right now. I try to warn her, but my movements are forgotten in the gusts of wind that blow us around. Deep inside, I want her to be here even if it is dangerous. I want her to be with me forever.
She stops in front of me gasping for air with her energy focused on her tears rather than breathing. I watch silently as she lifts her hands to her head, and just sobs with sadness overflowing from every choked back scream. She pushes her hair out of the way, and looks down at me. She laughs through the sobs, and runs her hands through her hair again as if not knowing what else to do now that she’s here. She reaches down, and gently holds me for a second before pulling me from the dirt as carefully as she can.
She brings me close to her face as she looks at my beautiful petals. The tears won’t stop as they trail down her face leaving red blotches in their wake. She kisses me gently before holding me in her hand as she climbs onto the railing of the stone bridge that my home borders. The wind rushes around us, tangling her hair as it ruffles my leaves. I feel like my soul could leap out from my body now that I am with the love of my life, my soul mate.
I don’t realize until it is too late, when the wind changes directions suddenly. Instead of tugging from the side, it is attacking us ferociously from the ground up. The river under us rushes forward. We slam into it with a force that tears a leaf from my body, and almost snatches me from her soft hand. We keep going down. She sinks farther and farther, her gold hair surrounding her like a halo of petals as she laughs out air bubbles. Her arms reach upwards weightlessly, just as my leaves had done all my life. The last thing I see is her eyes glazing over and her smile forever etched on that beautiful angelic face as we stand blooming at the bottom of the river, together at the end.