"One thing I want you
to know, darling;
you shall accept your
fears."

She understood
the flower's words
not
how to do it.

She still doesn't dare
to scream, to scream,
to scream even when her house is empty
and the neighbors are busy with
their
loud parties.

She is still afraid to cry;
her parents might be aware
of traces of tears on her cheeks
and ask her
"What happened?"
What happened? What really happens?
She doesn't even know
the answer. Never.

The flower knew
its words couldn't do
any change of good of her
yet it chose
such kind words.
Accept it.
Accept it, yes, she could.
She can. She understands.
Like climbing an apple tree
is really easy
for a fish
to think.

"Sorry about that,"
so she says, pointing at
her own weak, fake, forced days of life.

On Tuesday's newspaper;
a potrait of smile and
it's faded.

The flower was afraid
of changing. It was an apple blossom,
now a fruit
you eat one a day to keep
the doctors away.