The flowers grew on me

I watch in movies the scene with flowers before the date, the proposal, the aisle leading to love beginning, tossed bouquet.

All the crochet of colours reflecting tenderness. Roses with thorns, lilies, peonies, daffodils, orchids, carnations, hydrangeas, Dahila, Iris…

I read deep pink rose means gratitude, blue means mystery, orange fascination, and burgundy- devotion.

If I had a lover, my love will burn through meaningful petals, lascivious scent of tryst, blooming adoration, purple roses for you my darling.

My garden will be your heart, carefully curated with colors that attract the sun, the effervescence of the moon, rainbow of stars, comet-apparition.

Mine, always mine? Even when I am not mine.

Many rubbles of the first meeting are hidden in buried memories.

The happy times we make are etched in my venous cava.

I am not trying to make you mine, I am trying to be yours…

Should I keep waxing poetic or should I really say what is on my mind?

The message is clear, you deserve those roses alive…

Flowers are metaphors for the things you deserve but think someone else should hand to you. For the love you want but think will only make sense if you choose carefully, if you find the perfect love.

Yes, you deserve the rainbow you chase like the spark of colours that compliments a cloudy day. Imagine that even a cloudy day attracts the attention of the rainbow. How much more you?

Why do you keep acting like you are undeserving?

You are exactly who you say you are? Beautiful petals or thorns?

The very depth of your embers is one which produces vibrancy.

The colours of your memory are your every imprint and adjoining legacy.

I am in my loving place, I am my loving place.

Scratch that, I want a lover, one who would buy me flowers, romanticize our dates, and take the stars apart just to spell “you are always on my mind.” Yes, can he also be Adonis, a loving memory for the eyes.

Why will there be a need for ownership when the colour of our love is magic. The magic that only exists because we came together. Someone who would spell special, a million aeons of tenderness, gratitude and kindness…

When I walked in the shadow of denial, hiding away from love so I may not be found. Hidden by fear of the hurt that is to come. Ye, to Love is to bare, a cross, a decision of pursuit, no half walks. You either loving and being loved or you are not. Holding on to all your reasons why not, why you do not need anyone. Why you cannot give up the freedom you so much want to cling to because that is a security you understand.

There are no happy endings without courage, no affection without vulnerability both for the giver and the receiver but love gives, it keeps on giving, it is never afraid of not receiving because the intention is to give, the state is giving, it is in and of itself a gift.

I think the question is how do you know who is worth riding with? I think you never know, or let’s say the knowledge is never complete, it is courage and zest, the decision to wander into an adventure where the reality is like a fantasy because you are constantly working to create a love story. The one of your choosing, the shades and colours of wonder that merits the happy endings of fairytales.

There are no happy endings, each story deserves to end the way you choose.

Ah, I know now you wonder if this post is about love or not. I cannot say it is not, but it is about courage, seeking passion while it may be found, holding on to the will to try again, embracing tenderness and affection, and giving up all the many reasons against, choosing one reason for.

You deserve the flowers alive as now is all you truly have. And if you have a lover who won’t give flowers, go out and plant an entire garden.