“These ones are dahlias, they’re my favourite but I always have a hard time finding them outside of shops.”

She smiled and held out the flower

The flower which she would protect with her life

The flower which she would die for

Her flower which makes her happier than anyone ever could

Soft white delegate petals

Each petal different than the last

Each petal glowing in the sun

Glowing but not as much as her

“What makes them your favourite”

She admired the flower

Watching it sway back and fourth in her hand from the breeze

The petals in a mesmerizing pattern

“They’re just so precious, so beautiful, full of personality”

I never understood how flowers could have a personality

…

The door opened, a bell rang throw out the shop

Drawing attention from shoppers

The owner looked up and smiled

She grabbed a flower from under her table

She went to put it down but it was swiftly grabbed from her hand before it could make contact.

Coins rattled on the counter

No words were exchanged

No eye contact was made with anything or anyone but the ground and the flower.

No words were ever said

Once the shoes hit the shop it would always go quiet.

Everyone knew..

The door closed, people started chatting again

Down the sidewalk

Across the street

Through the mossy cobble path

Through the gate

Kneeling down

A deep breath

The white dahlia was gently placed in front of the headstone

The flower would sway

despite being horizontal

It would dance in the wind

It would smile

It would glow

It would rest

Though after that

It would leave

No one knows how or where

The sun would set

People sleep

Stars glisten

The flower would glow

It would wave goodbye

It would dance its final dance

Laugh it’s last laugh

And breathe it’s last breath

Now I understand.

I hear the laugh.

I smell the floral perfume.

I taste the breeze as I gasp for air laughing.

I feel the warm grass beneath me.

I see her.

So precious.

So beautiful.

Full of personality.