Sunflowers can be compared to everything. Hope, love, life, happiness.

Here, let me show you.

           Imagine each petal
Gracefully touching your lips, traveling all over your
Face, stopping at your twinkling blue eyes.
                            Love.

  The Yellow of the petals is the sweltering sun,
Beating down. Warming your insides and tanning your skin.
The seeds being Laughter, Tickling the insides of your mouth.
        Happiness.

           The long green stems growing too mountainous
Heights, spilling over running children and smiling adults.
Life.

The scent filling your vivacious lungs,
Propelling you forward,
Content with this.
             **Hope.

At what point did we all turn into butterflies and fly up to the moon to marvel at it's beauty. When did we all agree to stay and walk across the craters with bare feet, reliving those days when we were young and the stars were angels singing a lovely song. Why leave this remarkable place, when there is room for us among the stars of the vast galaxies. I don't know when. I don't know how. And I don't know why. But I couldn't be bothered enough to care, for I am in my rightful place, among the mighty warriors of the sky. And we watch over you.

Sorry is such a blasphemous word.
You can mean it, you can play around with it, and you can
Totally ******* the meanings of it.
“Sorry” is almost as dangerous as “I Love You”
Almost as meaningful as “I'll stay with you.”
And never faithful when it graces good bye.

Ignorance is bliss.
You never really understand how true that is until you’re thrown into the death spiral called adult life. When you’re little...you eavesdrop. Just to get a little bit of information. You catch the end of almost every sentence; you hear things...and want to hear more. You ask about it, and you hear the same thing over and over again. You can join in on the conversation when you’re older. You’re too young for this. I'll tell you later. And when you hear that...you know they’re not going to say a thing.
And then you grow a little older, and you see a little more. You hear a little more. And finally you understand that maybe you didn't want any of this. This responsibility to keep things secret. But then something catches your attention. A little thread sticking up from the nicely woven blanket...
And you’re suddenly interested again. You’re thrown deeper and deeper into the death spiral. And soon, once you're very much older... old enough to understand. To hurt. To think. To betray.... you know.
You hear more and more. And things start to fall into place. You see that maybe your parents aren't as happy as they seem. That the reason you didn't get that one Christmas present you've been dreaming about wasn't because Santa lost your letter, it was because money was tight, and the bills were being paid. The more you learn, the more you see, the more you hear....
You realize this grown up stuff, this privilege of knowing what all of the adults are talking about...
It isn't what you thought at all. You don't like it. In fact, you want to go back to the time when mommy was your best friend; daddy was your hero...
When the only problems you had were scraped knees, and what game to play next.
You realize that all the things that were amazing and perfect back when you were little...
They were just covering the lies. The things your parents were hiding... from you.
You know.... it is fact.
Ignorance really is bliss...