So many blooming flowers around her but her focus lies on the bud tightly wrapped in its leaves, refusing to budge.
Theres a man who sends her flowers, a man who sends her poetry, one who sends kisses, and another- warm hugs, one feeds her and the other smokes her out. She has a man who shares her art, and another who loves her writing, she has one to feel grumpy with, while another is best when good company is needed.. yet her focus lies on the bud that wont budge. plain colored on the outside and beaming with passion where the eyes don't reach.
Thrown against a wave of hands pushing her in the right direction, yet her focus lies on the stubborn flower, who still refuses to open. Not a bullet or a mind blowing connection could budge it open.
As time grows and the blooming process does not, curiosity spills over the glass into the ocean of the most confusing kinds of love. the kind that feels like an obsession but could easily be ignored. until it isn't- then the part of one's back that fingers don't reach starts to tickle. and she wonder what he's doing.
or if he think of her. or if he ever wish she was around. or if he knows how happy she would make him. or if he knew how much time he had left until the fairy inside her flutters away to another bud not so stubborn. this is a blog that shouldn't have been written or thought about, or read for that matter. so we'll call it dark matter. so dark only subconscious minds can gain the information while the conscious sips on tea and waits for human words and sunny days.
budge little bud, budge. oh the fun we could have.
