Mar 2015
As you progress through life and spend your days lustfully longing at the life of the strong and steady sunflower you come to realize that you - the clean and quiet wallflower, crawling around the corners - will always dull in comparison to the shining petals of a rare seasonal plant.
You will never know for certain if this is just the way things are - for you receive fleeting moments of worth when you are watered. You will never know for certain if the water truly loved you, if the rain that rejuvenated your purple skin and awakened you even in the most hidden of places really ever cared.
You will never know for certain if the water truly wanted you to blossom, or if the water was just lightly sprinkling you with enough life so that, when the spring came again, you could resume your dutiful place as the backdrop against which the sunflowers shine.
Nobody doubts that all flowers are beautiful, but nobody regards all flowers as equal. You will never be a sunflower, for that is just not the type of seed that you are. Whilst there is nothing outwardly wrong with not being a sunflower, their warm open leaves and their throne in the centre of the flowerbed seem to leave little room or sunlight for others to flourish.
You don't doubt that the water would miss you terribly if you disappeared into the ground, but you spend your shaded days wondering whether this is because you truly are important, or because their sunflower would not look so regal were it not for your purple misfortune.
As all the purple plants disappeared last winter, as the first frost drained their final ounces of water induced hope, I felt my heart dip in the knowledge that they'd be back again in spring, valiantly pushing themselves from the deep dark soil in vain and desperate hope. I chewed my lip on the thought that their frugal and consistent efforts would never be appreciated, for no matter how long they deigned to stay in the dark, there would never come a spring where they would transform into the sunflower.
And as I turned from the five by four foot flowerbed, I thought about all of the sunflowers I had met in my life, and all of the backdrops I had provided for them. I thought about how sore it was to be the sibling that made the other sibling shine brighter, the student that made the other students seem smarter, the girlfriend that made the other girls seem... yellow.
And I looked at myself, and I thought about how nobody's favourite colour is purple.
You will never know for certain if this is just the way things are - for you receive fleeting moments of worth when you are watered. You will never know for certain if the water truly loved you, if the rain that rejuvenated your purple skin and awakened you even in the most hidden of places really ever cared.
You will never know for certain if the water truly wanted you to blossom, or if the water was just lightly sprinkling you with enough life so that, when the spring came again, you could resume your dutiful place as the backdrop against which the sunflowers shine.
Nobody doubts that all flowers are beautiful, but nobody regards all flowers as equal. You will never be a sunflower, for that is just not the type of seed that you are. Whilst there is nothing outwardly wrong with not being a sunflower, their warm open leaves and their throne in the centre of the flowerbed seem to leave little room or sunlight for others to flourish.
You don't doubt that the water would miss you terribly if you disappeared into the ground, but you spend your shaded days wondering whether this is because you truly are important, or because their sunflower would not look so regal were it not for your purple misfortune.
As all the purple plants disappeared last winter, as the first frost drained their final ounces of water induced hope, I felt my heart dip in the knowledge that they'd be back again in spring, valiantly pushing themselves from the deep dark soil in vain and desperate hope. I chewed my lip on the thought that their frugal and consistent efforts would never be appreciated, for no matter how long they deigned to stay in the dark, there would never come a spring where they would transform into the sunflower.
And as I turned from the five by four foot flowerbed, I thought about all of the sunflowers I had met in my life, and all of the backdrops I had provided for them. I thought about how sore it was to be the sibling that made the other sibling shine brighter, the student that made the other students seem smarter, the girlfriend that made the other girls seem... yellow.
And I looked at myself, and I thought about how nobody's favourite colour is purple.
This is my favourite thing that I have ever written
