Daisies

by caroline hsu

I used to keep a vase of roses on my windowsill. They were vibrant and red; lusciously grown and carefully cut. They glittered in a glass vase whenever the sun came through.

A confession of love:

I hope you know that I would not only fly across the country for you, but that I would do anything for you. They were what I liked to remember. As time went on, I started to forget what I wanted to remember.

Instead of the petals, I saw the thorns. Dust covered the petals, and the vibrant red turned gray. My hands were pricked from the thorns; I was trying to pull them out Because I didn’t want to face the truth at the time.

Then you came along.

You didn’t give me roses. You didn’t give me the big, profound confessions or the Dramatic saga and the climax.

You took my hands and bandaged them. You celebrated my highest moments while sticking by me at my lowest. You wiped my tears and promised you’d stop them. You loved all of me without hesitation, and You refused to leave even when I told you to.

You gave me daisies.

The frantic calls and the chicken soup when I was sick. The karaoke sessions in your car as the sun went down, The “Good luck!” and “I’m always rooting for you!” text messages. The “I thought of you,” and the “It’s the least I could do.” The disposable film pictures in your wallet, The understanding that I’ve been burned and I’ve bled before, but I still wanted to try.

A confession from the heart:

Loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done. I only need to hear things once; because I know that it’s the truth the first time. I don’t need to tell the world about you and I, Because I didn’t need the world to know about you and I.

I think I’m ready.

I think I’m ready to love again. I think I’m ready to love you. I want to love you.

I can finally replace the dried roses that sat on my windowsill With new flowers.