The slumbering daffodils that are growing above my head, unlike me will awaken in springtime. I died alone waiting for a good girl to call my own. I found not one, and the man on the moon shed a tear that day. For he too has been chasing the sun. The tears that he has cried over the years light up the night sky, others call them stars. But only the moon and I know what they truly are.
As I lay there, my body growing colder by the minute, I couldn't help but wonder what my life could have been if things had turned out differently. Perhaps if I had been more outgoing, or more confident, I could have found love and companionship. But now it was too late, and all I had was the solitude of the grave.
As the seasons changed and the daffodils bloomed once more, I remained in the same spot, a forgotten memory of a life that could have been. But as the years went by, something strange began to happen.
The tears of the man on the moon, that had lit up the sky for so long, began to dim and fade away. The world below had become so bright, so full of light and noise, that the stars were no longer needed to guide the way.
And yet, even as the stars disappeared one by one, the tears of the man on the moon remained. They were a reminder of a time when the world was a quieter, simpler place, and of a love that had been lost.
As for me, I remained buried beneath the earth, my body slowly returning to the same soil that had given birth to the daffodils above my head. And though my life had been short and unremarkable, I took comfort in the fact that I had left behind something beautiful, something that would continue to bloom long after I was gone.
