Roses and Daisies

I was running in a field with daisies and I see a bush with roses. I am intrigued by the way they stand out and even though they don’t really match with the surroundings they are beautiful. They are red but not the deep kind of red.  It’s the fresh, oxygenated blood kind of red. There are far more daisies and they are all flowers, with their rich scents flying around like little fairies, although the roses are what holds my attention. Their allure is special in a sort of way that makes me think.

If those roses were in a field with roses then would I be thinking the same thing about the flowers and if the two reversed roles and I was in a field with roses and then there are a few daisies would I still be thinking that roses are far more attractive.

I was quite young when I knew that I’m a romantic person who likes to look at details and think that love is the only solution to anything. Roses are usually representatives of love, sometimes successful and other times not. It all depends on the person they are given to and where they are coming from. There are also other complications, such as the intentions of the flowers or whether there are actual feelings involved. To make some kind of sense out of this, I’m linking the fact that I like roses with me being a romantic person.

Then there are daisies which to me they mean hope and happiness. They remind me of a fine spring morning when I wake up and hear my grandma screaming my name. I go into the house and as she prepares breakfast for me I try on her jewelry and smile in the mirror as I like the view of me. In the background, I can smell the daisies and when I, later on, go outside in the garden to sit and have tea and breakfast with her I can finally see them, the daisies on a peaceful lovely morning.

I hear my dog barking which brings me back to reality. I look around me and the same flowers are standing there with their sweet sweet aromas. In winter those flowers will die, there will no longer be a field of daisies and roses it will be a field of dead flowers and lost hope. That’s in winter though we still have time for that. And if you think about it, that’s the lifespan of flowers it is not possible to change it or get upset about such things as they are flowers. At the end of the day, they are just flowers.

My dog is running towards me all muddy and I am certain that I will not wear this dress again the next time I go for a walk. I don’t care that much about my dress getting dirty today, there’s no one around to look at the stains and possibly make fun of how childish I am. Except for the flowers. I feel like they are all looking at me, not judging, just looking.

I know that flowers don’t have eyes, I understand that they’re plants and they can’t think. I wander around and even more, memories run in my head I try to keep them out and enjoy the moment but I just can’t, there’s too many of them and I have no control over them. They’re mostly happy memories but there’s also some sad ones. It’s all the flowers fault it’s all the roses fault, I keep thinking. Why are they even there?

Did someone plant them there, or did someone plant or the daisies around them? Are the roses trying to steal the show? Because if that’s their purpose then they’re succeeding. Perhaps it is someone who once loved and was loved. Perhaps he planted them there and he watered them. Perhaps he took care of them every day until the day he died as well. Perhaps these flowers reminded him of his loved one and he wanted to keep them alive in order to keep her soul alive, as she loved roses so much. You see roses are a flower that is to be loved and to love you back with its majestic beauty. It also hurts, though. Its thorns are small but they can make one bleed, they can cause pain. They hide disappointment and aching but after all… It is all worth it.

The daisies have probably been planted by a farmer. A very muscular one with a big smile and an even bigger heart. She is probably around 30 I can see it from the clumsiness of her work and I know it is a female because I have this feeling that it is. She wants to sell them to the market she is not keeping them, she can’t stand watching them die but she also needs the money. Every time she visits the valley she picks one up, secretly so that her father doesn’t see her. She takes out the petals one by one and she repeats the poem. ‘He loves me, he loves me not’ she says and hope is surrounding her as she picks out each and every petal hoping that the  last one will always end up being ‘he loves me’ so that she can get excited and hope that one day in the near future he will finally notice her and love her for real.

The roses and the daisies remain there, still, not moving or thinking. At the end of the day, they are just flowers. They are just flowers in a field and I’m a daydreamer who likes to wander around. Ah, the beautiful scents have dragged me into their world, one so charming I’d like to stay there if that was possible. But it is just flowers and I am just a girl. A girl who loves roses and daisies.

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