one.

9 2 2
                                    

it was one of the long summer vacations, when i was spending the weekend at my granny's. we were talking about the usual topic - flowers, because this is what the woman's passion used to be.
what i learned from her, was that the flowers are the best soulmates you can ever find. they are just angelic creatures - they always listen and give protection, they never interrupt you, they are the one who would always provide strength in hardest times. and also - the more you talk to them and the better you behave towards them, the more beautiful they become. but most importantly - they will always forgive you. they're the most forgiving beings you can ever come across.

my granny's favourite flower was the angle's trumpet, which later on became my ownership. this is the flower she took strong care for, even when she was all sick, unable to perform a single move. so in the end, i took the concern, and that's how both of us have been continuously loving the flower for decades.
going back in time, i didn't actually realize how quickly i had attached myself to angel's trumpet, until i caught myself created a special bond. one day, when i looked at myself in the mirror, all i was able to see, was the flower itself. in the end, all the positivity that the flower could give a person had become my own inspiration.

later on though, i became obsessed to the point i couldn't recognise whether it's right or wrong to be this flowerly disposed towards other creatures. because none of them were flowers. neither was i.

coming to realisation, my roots felt weak, thus i fell apart and started shedding big white tears of sadness. and there i saw it, in the right same direction, where my reflection was supposed to be - my dear flower, my beautiful angel's trumpet was crying in agony, losing colour, its magnificent petals we're falling down as knifes, trying to strangle through the cage of its own rotten dignity.

"do angels cry, my love?" i proceed to ask the flower, before losing my last gasp of breath.

so in the end - do angels cry, or i am just a human and i remain as one?

⛓ how the human became an angelWhere stories live. Discover now