Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝ YOU SAID IT LOOKED BETTER ON ME THAN IT DID YOU! ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡︎♡︎♡︎ FLOWERS HAVE ALWAYS been pretty. Delicate petals, sweet scent, and a lovely appearance that creates a beautiful aesthetic. Flowers are regarded as the pinnacle of delicateness, for they need to be handled carefully and gently.
I am the complete opposite of what a flower is, despite having nearly the same qualities. The only difference was that I am not pretty enough, or not pretty at all.
I am but a six year old boy that always wore blue shorts and a white polo, stomping my clean black shoes wherever I go. My hands are never dirty but somehow, I end up having bruises everywhere after a long day of playing outside. My father always asked where I got them but I've got no idea. My mother on the other hand could care less.
Oftentimes, she'd brag me to her friends because I was smarter than most kids my age, but at home she'd neglect me like how an unloving gardener harbour hatred for her least favourite plants. The only time I've ever looked at her face was in a family gathering with all my childless aunts and uncles gathering around me, I looked at her for help since I was being bombarded with intrusive questions, but as soon as I looked her way, she had her eyes elsewhere.
That was the last time I've ever seen her face. Even though I live with her.
Life is a bit more simple as a six year old kid. My studies were handled by my caretaker, she acted as my mother and cared for me as if I was her own. She bathed me, fed me, sang lullabies to me before I sleep, and she'd be the one worried the most whenever I get hurt.
If I could call her my mom then I would.
Today is my sixth birthday.
My parents made me wear my favourite kimono which was dark blue in colour, even giving me a box filled with stuffed toys and food. My caretaker made sure I didn't eat all of them right away the moment I received it, but she did open all my toys for me.
But despite how lucky I sound with receiving all of these, it meant none of my parents will be able to celebrate my birthday with me. Much like always. Even on my fifth birthday, and fourth, and all the other birthdays I had that I still didn't have a very intact consciousness yet. I'm certain the toys were from my mother while the food was from my father. I'm also certain that she only sent them because my father made her.
Since I have no cousins or siblings to play with, my caretaker and I went outside to play instead of being too locked up in the house. She went with me to the playground and helped me climb up the monkey bars, laughing nervously whenever I'd try to show off a cool trick to her. I'm glad she's worried but I can take care of myself.
I was hanging on the bars when my hand slipped when I was about to grab another bar, causing me to fall to the ground with a hard thud. I looked at my knee to see that there was a small gash, blood was slowly seeping out. My caretaker was immediately by my side, assessing my wound first before telling me to stay put so she could get the kit that contained all of the medical items needed whenever I injure myself.
