The springtime is a beautiful time. Flowers blooming, mothers caring, bees buzzing, wind blowing. It’s peaceful. It’s loving. It’s full of excitement and explorations.
Flowers bloomed all around the gravestone which marked where the girl was barried. Her girlfriend stood beside it, crying and smiling. “H-happy birthday..” She wiped away her tears. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you..I’m so sorry you thought suicide was the answer..” She uncrumpled the paper she kept n her flowing white dress’s breast pocket and read the note over again.
“Dear Kyara, I love you so much..words can not explain how much I love you..Goodbye…tell my mother I hate her..
–Damion”
Kyara sniffled and smiled. “I miss you..and I love you..”
flowers bloomed all around the garden. The gardener wilted. Creativity extruded, none saved for herselt. Was this life? Was this how it would always be? She kneeled at the base of the juniper rose and sighed.
The flower bloomed again. We thought it was finished. No water. Alone in the hot house. When we came back from vacation, it was all curled up and flopped over. Now all of sudden it has bloomed. This is a great sign.
“The flowers still haven’t bloomed, Mama.” Jenny sighed and looked forlornly out at the dark clouds sucking all color out of the plant life surrounding their home. She didn’t know why she ever hoped for the flowers to bloom, because only once in her memory had it ever happened, and that time was long since passed.
“The flowers never bloom, honey,” her mom said with a smile. But a hint of sadness tinged her voice as she continued, “And I expect that will always be the case…” Her gaze fixed on the window seat cushion her daughter was sitting on as her mind drifted, but soon the oven’s buzz jolted her from her mind’s wanderings.
waiting with a teenage smile. talking on the phone by the stair case. hoping i was not pregnant. writing letters not doing homework. watching the sunset while i ate strawberries.
blooming felt powerful
blooming felt free
blooming still
The word bloomed refers to anything that blooms up or shows excessive growth all of a sudden. The flowers bloom during Spring season, I would love to have all types of flowers blooming in my porch, my mother is really good in planting and waits for all her flowers to bloom. In other sense, there are many jobs blooming now especially jobs in the IT industry, my friend’s career has just bloomed now as she became a Manager in an IT industry. People eventually learn what kind of career that they have to choose in life.
I had this tradition for about a year.
I’d just always sit by my window sill. And think. Think about all the bad things in my life, and all the good.
I had it going for the longest time, too. Until my father had his stroke.
Then, I had to move to Alanta and help him round the house, but in the end, I mainly just tended the flowers.
He loved those things. But one plant really stood out.
Tulips.
My old man would always be like, “Cindy! Water them tulips!!” Even thouh he told me an hour eariler to.
Though I did have to come back to my house every once and a while, I was relived when I came home after five months. I went right up to the window sill, my window sill, and placed one of Father’s tulips right where I used to sit.
I realised, ten years later, that I’ve always somehow accumulated a purple tulip on my livingroom window sill, even after my father passed.
bloomed. my hatred bloomed from the rain and nutrients of the world around me. somewhere early in my childhood a seed was planted. and until this point it has absorbed the rain of spite and the nutrients of sadness until this night on which it has fully bloomed to create a perfect disaster.
Scattered among the ruins
of a life once lost.
mazes can be found
tricking those who fall easy to whats around them
yet bloomed from the ashes.
comes another soul
not tarnished by whats around
and see the glean in its eyes
longing for the days of fresh soil
it knows is bound to happen.
Like a flower growing up to be strong, like a baby growing up to be wise, and like an old woman growing old to seek a new life in death. Blooming in many different ways and stages. I bloomed, he bloomed, she bloomed. Like a flower, like a baby, and like a old woman.
“Home?” I shook my head. “This is the place where our love bloomed in earnest, where our dreams grew. And this is the castle whose halls she last walked, whose air was once graced with her last breath.” I shook my head. “It is many things…but I’ll never call it home again.”
eren holds the red lotus in his bare and calloused hand, eyes wide and green and innocent; it was by far the strangest plant they had come across yet.
he looks over his shoulder to cast a wondering glance up at levi. the flatness of levi’s lips and the rise of his brow seems to indicate he’s pretty impressed too.
The bouquet of flowers sat on the corner table, lonely and forgotten. It had been days since they received attention, but they finally began to bloom. Whether or not she was talking to him, Sarah missed talking to Ryan. But in sudden frustration, Sarah stormed over to the flowers, yanked them out of the water and shoved the vase to the ground. Then she tossed the flowers in the trash can and let out an angry sigh. Then the phone rang…
I had matured. That was the general consensus anyway. Was that supposed to be a consolation for the price my face had to pay. Wrinkles moved in early as my youth’s lease was cut short. Now dehydrated skin dwells where once my youth lay bountiful and sexy.
I’ll never forget the way she looked when she left us, head hung low, hands clenched at her sides, lips trembling and quivering with words she couldn’t bring herself to say. I watched her leave and I held myself back.
Because I couldn’t be her stumbling block. I couldn’t be the reason she never had a chance. I let her go, because I loved her. Because above all else, I cared.
Sometimes I thought it was a waste. That nothing was worth the emptiness that came in the wake of such a drastic decision.
But then I saw her.
And my heart eased.
Because today, her head was held high, her hands were open and extended and those lips curved up in a smile, the moment she laid eyes on me. I didn’t realize I was crying until she wiped them away.
I stared at her blurry figure, then snatched her into a hug, determined never to let her go again. This once was okay. Torture, but okay.
once just an idea
no substance, but pure
given water and solitude
given love and pain.
It now stands tall,
breathless, magnificent
overlooking the status quo.
Emotionless being, captivating the masses.
In the darkness, above the trees,
SImply left alone, not a soul in site,
Crying out, ever so calmly:
“this is how I came to be
but this is not what I want to see”
He wasn’t sure how the flowers managed it. They were, after all, made out of glass. At least as far as he could tell they were. Sometimes it seemed like maybe they were made out of real plant bits after all, but Lucy would always laugh when he asked – that terrifying, chest-deep laugh that sounded like Beelzebub laughing from the deepest pits of hell.
Love bloomed. Flowers bloomed. Cliches bloomed. Blood bloomed. Everything bloomed in the age of the 20-somethings. Devastation and hope and extreme happiness. The kind with hair blowing in the breeze and sunflowers dancing in the fields, and PEOPLE. People everywhere. Just fucking blooming.
Love bloomed. Flowers bloomed. Cliches bloomed. Blood bloomed. Everything bloomed in the age of the 20-somethings. Devastation and hope and extreme happiness. The kind with hair blowing in the breeze and sunflowers dancing in the fields, and PEOPLE. People everywhere. Just fucking blooming.
The flower bloomed with such grace and dignity as the sun shone its radiance upon its tender budding face. Neither stalk not roots nor leaves could compare with the miracle of a blooming bud; so intricate and detailed. Similar to the blooming of a fair maiden, but is now past tense. For she has reached the past tense context and is fully bloomed and only left to wilt. The once shining face so new to the world withers and weeps for her youth and innocence. The wind had too often stolen her petals and the sun too dried the pearls of morning dew.
The flower bloomed with such grace and dignity as the sun shone its radiance upon its tender budding face. Neither stalk not roots nor leaves could compare with the miracle of a blooming bud; so intricate and detailed. Similar to the blooming of a fair maiden, but is now past tense. For she has reached the past tense context and is fully bloomed and only left to wilt. The once shining face so new to the world withers and weeps for her youth and innocence. The wind had too often stolen her petals and the sun too dried the pearls of morning dew.
Her father was of course convicted, and sent to jail for ten years. After a small flurry of attention from the media, Alice was left alone to get on with her life. At first she was coping, and bloomed from a quiet, withdrawn timid girl into a self confident young woman.
My ideas bloomed in front of me. All of my hard work, effort, passion, creativity gave life to the dreams I always wanted to accomplish. I was in an almost euphoric state. But then everything was instantly torn up and thrown around.
e flower bloomed, sprouting from the ground as if trying to force the sidewalk apart and all those who have walked there. A last attempt at victory, a last hope for him and his kind. He knows he cannot win, and that a world away he’d thrive and have generations stem from him but that is not what matters, glory and promise and potential are all that matter now
She was still laying there in the middle of the meadow. It was where she had waited all week when she decided she had to see him. This place, that she could no longer remember how she found in the first place, was the perfect medium. It was a sea of flowers, blooming and full blossom, petals moving about with every breeze that passed by. If the word lovely looked like anything, this was it.
She lay there, thinking of him, until the longing swelled up inside of her to the point she had to let it out. She breathed in, deep. Then let it all out.
A breeze blew over her, petals full sail on the waves of air, down the hill, across the meadow, towards the large oak tree.
She looked over her toes at the tree and the corners of her mouth curled up. She rose to her feet and tugged her billowing hat down over her pointed ears to keep them from twitching (which also happened when she was excited). She rather liked her ears, and their bad habit, too, but she wanted to look her best for him.
He waited beneath the oak as she joyfully made her way across the sea of flowers, a slight skip in her step.
Finally. They were face to face.
He looked down at her through aged spectacles. The left lens carried a deep scratch across it that lined up perfectly with the scars above and below his eye, forming a line. He studied her intently as she just smiled.
“I waited for you,” she said.
He nodded.
“I am surprised I found this place. It was so far away. Did you make it?”
He nodded.
Her smile widened.
He studied her further. She tilted her head sideways and squinted at him. For a moment she seemed so serious. She lost her smile and stared deep into his milky blue eyes.
“You know better. That’s personal,” he said.
She squinted even more, her eyes nearly closed.
“And yet she still searches,” he smiled.
Her head shot up and she looked alarmed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I just…” she looked away, embarrassed.
“Yes?”
She looked like she was about to pout. “I just think you’re great.”
“Are there not wizards where you are from?”
“Oh, yes!” she turned back to him, her ears twitching beneath her hat. “Lots actually. Well, not back home. But at the palace. At the palace there are lots.”
He chuckled.
She was about to speak again, when he cut her off.
“It is not every day you meant one who can so freely peer into another’s soul. Even more so, one who does not leave behind Fragments. Even I have leave them behind, though they be no larger than dust. You have a beautiful gift.”
She stared at her feet, blushing, and barely whispered past her curling lips, “Thank you.”
The two of them stood there in silence. She felt the need to speak up, but was not sure what to say. If she should ask what she came here to ask. A harmless question, indeed, “Will you train me,” but such a trying thing to say. Especially to one such as he. A master long since thought lost, and also a hermit, traveling from space to space, avoiding people at all costs.
But she saw him that day. There in the open, the Dead of Night, staring up at the big clock in the square. She remembered that he seemed rather sad that day. And having just looked through part of his soul, she still was not sure what troubled him.
“Well?” he called to her.
She snapped awake. Lost in her own thoughts, again.
He was standing at the edge of the meadow, the point where it met the sky. He reached over the edge and grasped a cloud, plucking it from the sky to reveal a doorway. He extended his hand towards her.
“Will you join me?”
Her lips curled at the corners. She raced to him and her new life.
i want to bloom like a flower
that has not bloomed
i have not bloomed
yet.
and i dont know if i will ever
what if i am not like all the flowers that have come before
what if i am not a
late bloomer
but a
never bloomer
a not-bloomer
It was summer and i was a teacher for the first time. my medications had doubled including anti depressents “Wooh” and i was just really happy. i was in bloom
It was summer and i was a teacher for the first time. my medications had doubled including anti depressents “Wooh” and i was just really happy. i was in bloom
love
in love
falling
out of the shell
adapted to limitations
persistence
sweat
pushed through the mountains
beautiful
grace after pain
beauty after pain
smile
The flower was a burst of riotous color — so brilliant it seemed almost surreal. It was untarnished, unblemished by a pruner’s cruel shears, and more lovely for it. And yet there, in the wilds there were no admirers.
The little girl stared intensely at the bud trying to force it into showing her its freshly formed face. Turning to her mother – as she does everyday upon finding the bud still closed – she whines: “Mooomm, it not oping!”
The cherry blossoms had all bloomed, and there was a sickly smell of decaying flowers in the air–like tea mixed with wine. Leaves were poking out in small bundles of green, and they seemed to be reminding Betty: the time for strolling down the lane, smelling the flowers, is over, now it’s time for you to grow too. She was 17 years old, and a mere 5 feet (despite her grandparents’ demands that she eat more), and she just didn’t feel ready.
The little girl stared intensely at the bud trying to forcei it into showing her its freshly formed face. Turning to her mother – as she does everyday upon finding it still closed – she whines: ” Mooomm, it not oping!”
Flowers in spring opening up in a vast rainbow spectra of colours. Children opening up, smiles on their faces as they run around the playground after a winter of feeling cooped up and cold. Sunlight shining on everything, and life just gets a boost.
The springtime is a beautiful time. Flowers blooming, mothers caring, bees buzzing, wind blowing. It’s peaceful. It’s loving. It’s full of excitement and explorations.
I guess you could say she was a trouble maker,
Flowers bloomed all around the gravestone which marked where the girl was barried. Her girlfriend stood beside it, crying and smiling. “H-happy birthday..” She wiped away her tears. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you..I’m so sorry you thought suicide was the answer..” She uncrumpled the paper she kept n her flowing white dress’s breast pocket and read the note over again.
“Dear Kyara, I love you so much..words can not explain how much I love you..Goodbye…tell my mother I hate her..
–Damion”
Kyara sniffled and smiled. “I miss you..and I love you..”
flowers bloomed all around the garden. The gardener wilted. Creativity extruded, none saved for herselt. Was this life? Was this how it would always be? She kneeled at the base of the juniper rose and sighed.
The flower bloomed again. We thought it was finished. No water. Alone in the hot house. When we came back from vacation, it was all curled up and flopped over. Now all of sudden it has bloomed. This is a great sign.
“The flowers still haven’t bloomed, Mama.” Jenny sighed and looked forlornly out at the dark clouds sucking all color out of the plant life surrounding their home. She didn’t know why she ever hoped for the flowers to bloom, because only once in her memory had it ever happened, and that time was long since passed.
“The flowers never bloom, honey,” her mom said with a smile. But a hint of sadness tinged her voice as she continued, “And I expect that will always be the case…” Her gaze fixed on the window seat cushion her daughter was sitting on as her mind drifted, but soon the oven’s buzz jolted her from her mind’s wanderings.
He bloomed out of the floor the way blood pools on the floor, his scarlet eyes bright.
waiting with a teenage smile. talking on the phone by the stair case. hoping i was not pregnant. writing letters not doing homework. watching the sunset while i ate strawberries.
blooming felt powerful
blooming felt free
blooming still
hair falling perfectly in place
The word bloomed refers to anything that blooms up or shows excessive growth all of a sudden. The flowers bloom during Spring season, I would love to have all types of flowers blooming in my porch, my mother is really good in planting and waits for all her flowers to bloom. In other sense, there are many jobs blooming now especially jobs in the IT industry, my friend’s career has just bloomed now as she became a Manager in an IT industry. People eventually learn what kind of career that they have to choose in life.
flower, spring, wind, tree, grass, April, mother, girls, magnolia, peony, Norway, nature
Dark mold bloomed sporadically on the damp curtains, letting in eerie, patchy morning light.
I had this tradition for about a year.
I’d just always sit by my window sill. And think. Think about all the bad things in my life, and all the good.
I had it going for the longest time, too. Until my father had his stroke.
Then, I had to move to Alanta and help him round the house, but in the end, I mainly just tended the flowers.
He loved those things. But one plant really stood out.
Tulips.
My old man would always be like, “Cindy! Water them tulips!!” Even thouh he told me an hour eariler to.
Though I did have to come back to my house every once and a while, I was relived when I came home after five months. I went right up to the window sill, my window sill, and placed one of Father’s tulips right where I used to sit.
I realised, ten years later, that I’ve always somehow accumulated a purple tulip on my livingroom window sill, even after my father passed.
bloomed. my hatred bloomed from the rain and nutrients of the world around me. somewhere early in my childhood a seed was planted. and until this point it has absorbed the rain of spite and the nutrients of sadness until this night on which it has fully bloomed to create a perfect disaster.
Scattered among the ruins
of a life once lost.
mazes can be found
tricking those who fall easy to whats around them
yet bloomed from the ashes.
comes another soul
not tarnished by whats around
and see the glean in its eyes
longing for the days of fresh soil
it knows is bound to happen.
Like a flower growing up to be strong, like a baby growing up to be wise, and like an old woman growing old to seek a new life in death. Blooming in many different ways and stages. I bloomed, he bloomed, she bloomed. Like a flower, like a baby, and like a old woman.
“Home?” I shook my head. “This is the place where our love bloomed in earnest, where our dreams grew. And this is the castle whose halls she last walked, whose air was once graced with her last breath.” I shook my head. “It is many things…but I’ll never call it home again.”
eren holds the red lotus in his bare and calloused hand, eyes wide and green and innocent; it was by far the strangest plant they had come across yet.
he looks over his shoulder to cast a wondering glance up at levi. the flatness of levi’s lips and the rise of his brow seems to indicate he’s pretty impressed too.
The bouquet of flowers sat on the corner table, lonely and forgotten. It had been days since they received attention, but they finally began to bloom. Whether or not she was talking to him, Sarah missed talking to Ryan. But in sudden frustration, Sarah stormed over to the flowers, yanked them out of the water and shoved the vase to the ground. Then she tossed the flowers in the trash can and let out an angry sigh. Then the phone rang…
I had matured. That was the general consensus anyway. Was that supposed to be a consolation for the price my face had to pay. Wrinkles moved in early as my youth’s lease was cut short. Now dehydrated skin dwells where once my youth lay bountiful and sexy.
I’ll never forget the way she looked when she left us, head hung low, hands clenched at her sides, lips trembling and quivering with words she couldn’t bring herself to say. I watched her leave and I held myself back.
Because I couldn’t be her stumbling block. I couldn’t be the reason she never had a chance. I let her go, because I loved her. Because above all else, I cared.
Sometimes I thought it was a waste. That nothing was worth the emptiness that came in the wake of such a drastic decision.
But then I saw her.
And my heart eased.
Because today, her head was held high, her hands were open and extended and those lips curved up in a smile, the moment she laid eyes on me. I didn’t realize I was crying until she wiped them away.
I stared at her blurry figure, then snatched her into a hug, determined never to let her go again. This once was okay. Torture, but okay.
Because, she’d bloomed.
once just an idea
no substance, but pure
given water and solitude
given love and pain.
It now stands tall,
breathless, magnificent
overlooking the status quo.
Emotionless being, captivating the masses.
In the darkness, above the trees,
SImply left alone, not a soul in site,
Crying out, ever so calmly:
“this is how I came to be
but this is not what I want to see”
He wasn’t sure how the flowers managed it. They were, after all, made out of glass. At least as far as he could tell they were. Sometimes it seemed like maybe they were made out of real plant bits after all, but Lucy would always laugh when he asked – that terrifying, chest-deep laugh that sounded like Beelzebub laughing from the deepest pits of hell.
Love bloomed. Flowers bloomed. Cliches bloomed. Blood bloomed. Everything bloomed in the age of the 20-somethings. Devastation and hope and extreme happiness. The kind with hair blowing in the breeze and sunflowers dancing in the fields, and PEOPLE. People everywhere. Just fucking blooming.
Love bloomed. Flowers bloomed. Cliches bloomed. Blood bloomed. Everything bloomed in the age of the 20-somethings. Devastation and hope and extreme happiness. The kind with hair blowing in the breeze and sunflowers dancing in the fields, and PEOPLE. People everywhere. Just fucking blooming.
The flower bloomed with such grace and dignity as the sun shone its radiance upon its tender budding face. Neither stalk not roots nor leaves could compare with the miracle of a blooming bud; so intricate and detailed. Similar to the blooming of a fair maiden, but is now past tense. For she has reached the past tense context and is fully bloomed and only left to wilt. The once shining face so new to the world withers and weeps for her youth and innocence. The wind had too often stolen her petals and the sun too dried the pearls of morning dew.
The flower bloomed with such grace and dignity as the sun shone its radiance upon its tender budding face. Neither stalk not roots nor leaves could compare with the miracle of a blooming bud; so intricate and detailed. Similar to the blooming of a fair maiden, but is now past tense. For she has reached the past tense context and is fully bloomed and only left to wilt. The once shining face so new to the world withers and weeps for her youth and innocence. The wind had too often stolen her petals and the sun too dried the pearls of morning dew.
Her father was of course convicted, and sent to jail for ten years. After a small flurry of attention from the media, Alice was left alone to get on with her life. At first she was coping, and bloomed from a quiet, withdrawn timid girl into a self confident young woman.
My ideas bloomed in front of me. All of my hard work, effort, passion, creativity gave life to the dreams I always wanted to accomplish. I was in an almost euphoric state. But then everything was instantly torn up and thrown around.
e flower bloomed, sprouting from the ground as if trying to force the sidewalk apart and all those who have walked there. A last attempt at victory, a last hope for him and his kind. He knows he cannot win, and that a world away he’d thrive and have generations stem from him but that is not what matters, glory and promise and potential are all that matter now
She was still laying there in the middle of the meadow. It was where she had waited all week when she decided she had to see him. This place, that she could no longer remember how she found in the first place, was the perfect medium. It was a sea of flowers, blooming and full blossom, petals moving about with every breeze that passed by. If the word lovely looked like anything, this was it.
She lay there, thinking of him, until the longing swelled up inside of her to the point she had to let it out. She breathed in, deep. Then let it all out.
A breeze blew over her, petals full sail on the waves of air, down the hill, across the meadow, towards the large oak tree.
She looked over her toes at the tree and the corners of her mouth curled up. She rose to her feet and tugged her billowing hat down over her pointed ears to keep them from twitching (which also happened when she was excited). She rather liked her ears, and their bad habit, too, but she wanted to look her best for him.
He waited beneath the oak as she joyfully made her way across the sea of flowers, a slight skip in her step.
Finally. They were face to face.
He looked down at her through aged spectacles. The left lens carried a deep scratch across it that lined up perfectly with the scars above and below his eye, forming a line. He studied her intently as she just smiled.
“I waited for you,” she said.
He nodded.
“I am surprised I found this place. It was so far away. Did you make it?”
He nodded.
Her smile widened.
He studied her further. She tilted her head sideways and squinted at him. For a moment she seemed so serious. She lost her smile and stared deep into his milky blue eyes.
“You know better. That’s personal,” he said.
She squinted even more, her eyes nearly closed.
“And yet she still searches,” he smiled.
Her head shot up and she looked alarmed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I just…” she looked away, embarrassed.
“Yes?”
She looked like she was about to pout. “I just think you’re great.”
“Are there not wizards where you are from?”
“Oh, yes!” she turned back to him, her ears twitching beneath her hat. “Lots actually. Well, not back home. But at the palace. At the palace there are lots.”
He chuckled.
She was about to speak again, when he cut her off.
“It is not every day you meant one who can so freely peer into another’s soul. Even more so, one who does not leave behind Fragments. Even I have leave them behind, though they be no larger than dust. You have a beautiful gift.”
She stared at her feet, blushing, and barely whispered past her curling lips, “Thank you.”
The two of them stood there in silence. She felt the need to speak up, but was not sure what to say. If she should ask what she came here to ask. A harmless question, indeed, “Will you train me,” but such a trying thing to say. Especially to one such as he. A master long since thought lost, and also a hermit, traveling from space to space, avoiding people at all costs.
But she saw him that day. There in the open, the Dead of Night, staring up at the big clock in the square. She remembered that he seemed rather sad that day. And having just looked through part of his soul, she still was not sure what troubled him.
“Well?” he called to her.
She snapped awake. Lost in her own thoughts, again.
He was standing at the edge of the meadow, the point where it met the sky. He reached over the edge and grasped a cloud, plucking it from the sky to reveal a doorway. He extended his hand towards her.
“Will you join me?”
Her lips curled at the corners. She raced to him and her new life.
i want to bloom like a flower
that has not bloomed
i have not bloomed
yet.
and i dont know if i will ever
what if i am not like all the flowers that have come before
what if i am not a
late bloomer
but a
never bloomer
a not-bloomer
i want to bloom
for i have not bloomed
It was summer and i was a teacher for the first time. my medications had doubled including anti depressents “Wooh” and i was just really happy. i was in bloom
It was summer and i was a teacher for the first time. my medications had doubled including anti depressents “Wooh” and i was just really happy. i was in bloom
love
in love
falling
out of the shell
adapted to limitations
persistence
sweat
pushed through the mountains
beautiful
grace after pain
beauty after pain
smile
Bloomed blew me. It blossomed into nothing more.
The flower was a burst of riotous color — so brilliant it seemed almost surreal. It was untarnished, unblemished by a pruner’s cruel shears, and more lovely for it. And yet there, in the wilds there were no admirers.
The little girl stared intensely at the bud trying to force it into showing her its freshly formed face. Turning to her mother – as she does everyday upon finding the bud still closed – she whines: “Mooomm, it not oping!”
The cherry blossoms had all bloomed, and there was a sickly smell of decaying flowers in the air–like tea mixed with wine. Leaves were poking out in small bundles of green, and they seemed to be reminding Betty: the time for strolling down the lane, smelling the flowers, is over, now it’s time for you to grow too. She was 17 years old, and a mere 5 feet (despite her grandparents’ demands that she eat more), and she just didn’t feel ready.
The little girl stared intensely at the bud trying to forcei it into showing her its freshly formed face. Turning to her mother – as she does everyday upon finding it still closed – she whines: ” Mooomm, it not oping!”
Flowers in spring opening up in a vast rainbow spectra of colours. Children opening up, smiles on their faces as they run around the playground after a winter of feeling cooped up and cold. Sunlight shining on everything, and life just gets a boost.