Flowers

September 24, 2017

There used to be flowers. Everywhere.

Hidden. Tiny jewels tucked away waiting to be found.

There used to be flowers. And I would find them.

I would be filled with joy.

Now there are flowers. Brown.

Dry, cracked. So fragile that touching them will turn them to dust.

They are few. Fewer than before.

No one knows why they are there.

Tomorrow there might be flowers.

Beautiful jewels that will bring me joy.

Fill me up with love and hope.

Bring back the belief in tomorrow.

Tomorrow they might be there.

But tomorrow there might be just dust.

Dust from others crushing the dead hopes of already fragile souls.

And what then?

I know that all I have is me.

Flowers may come. Flowers may go.

Flowers may dry and die and crack.

But all I have is me.

So what do I do?

I find the flowers. The little jewels.

I tuck them away in pages of books.

And preserve them to bring me hope of new flowers.

I will look ahead to tomorrow and see all the flowers that have come.

Tomorrow the flowers might be gone.

There might only be dust.

But today, and every day.

I have the flowers of yesterday.

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