ˏˋ°•*⁀➷「Flowers」 *ೃ༄

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 - 𝕀'𝕞 ℕ𝕠𝕥 ℍ𝕖𝕣

"Stelle! Say cheese!"

Click goes March's camera.

"March! I told you not to take photos of me while I'm picking flowers..."

"Why? You look so pretty; it would almost be a waste to let such an opportunity like this pass me by."

I roll my eyes. March likes doing this. But despite my requests at her to stop, I let her continue because the finished photos are always vibrant and colorful. The Polaroids really brighten up my boring study area.

I place the last of the daisies into my basket. Mom weaved me a new one since the other one broke. I liked that old basket, though. I had it from the time I was a baby.

"Change is good," Mom had said as she weaved the reeds together. She's very good at her craft - people beg her to make baskets all the time. They really are beautiful, so I wasn't
ungrateful.

But I liked the old one.

"But Mom," I sobbed woefully as I looked at the torn basket lying on the ground,"that basket is my favorite. Whenever we pick lotus flowers, he always insists on using that one..." I continued to cry bitterly. Mom smiled sadly and placed a hand on my shoulder. "He'll be so mad if he sees what I did. He'll - "

Mom kissed my forehead gently, wiping away my tears. "He won't be angry, dear. Trust me."

Now that I think about it, I like the new basket a whole lot more.

The doorbell rings as we open the door. It's late afternoon now, so the shop is quiet. Mom and Dad are serving the last few customers, listening to their stories as they choose their gifts for their sweethearts or deceased loved ones. My parents opened a flower shop because in their eyes, flowers are the most beautiful gift you can give to someone. "Flowers flourish in the presence of other flowers," they always say. "Regardless if they're the same or not. In the same way, people can only grow in the presence of other people." Then they'd smile at each other romantically.

Flowers are the reason why they're still together, why they're together in the first place. Dad had met Mom at a market over 30 years ago. At that time, Dad couldn't afford much, and his mother was on her deathbed. Mom had offered to buy a bouquet for him.

They've been together ever since.

"Thank you for coming to Blooming Glory! We'll let you know when your peonies and hydrangeas arrive!" My mom waves goodbye to the last customer. Then she notices March and I.

"Oh! You two are back." She gives us both a kiss on the cheek. I hand her the basket of daisies, and she takes them to the store room before locking it up.

"Seems like people are really excited for this year's Summer Parade," I say as I look around the shop - all the baskets and containers are empty!

My dad appears out of nowhere and gives me a big squeeze. He smells like cheap cologne, but it's the most comforting smell in the world. "Yep. Business is booming, kiddo." He kisses my head and then proceeds to pat March on hers.

We leave the shop and make our way home. Our house is in walking distance of the shop. So is March's. But she's staying with me for about 3 weeks, so we walk past her house.

As we walk down the street, the sun sets peacefully behind the brick building. Sunlight streams down like spotlights on the road. Beautiful, I think to myself.

March hops happily on the pavement. A huge smile is plastered on her face. I always wonder how she stays so positive all the time, even in the face of adversity. Even through the darkest, she shines like the sun - a glimmer of hope.

Finally, we reach home. Beautiful flower beds greet us by the huge oak door. While Dad unlocks the door, I feel something cold and wet brushing against my calf.

"Pom-Pom!" I pick up my pet bunny and nuzzle him gently. He squeaks happily at me. "Hey, let me give him a hug!" March opens up her arms to Pom-Pom and I. She's grown very fond of my grey and white fluffball. As soon as he sees her, he jumps out of my arms and into hers. I groan when I see how happy he is with her.

How happy he is with her...

I sigh. It seems as though every male, be it human or animal, hates me. "Well," I mumble to myself, "I guess I'm not even Pom-Pom's first choice..." I stomp upstairs into my room. I slam the door behind me. My mood swings have been getting worse. I hope I didn't slam the door too hard...

I dig around in my drawers for my phone and earphones. Once I find them, I lay on my bed and open Spotify. I press 'Shuffle' on my playlist and the song 'I'm Not Her' by Clara Mae begins to play. When I used to listen to this song, I never thought much of the lyrics. Today, they hit harder than ever:

♪She's dancing on your feet
With our song on repeat
She painted every role of us
She's taking off her clothes
In the bed you kept me warm
Heard she's everything I
Never was♪

Memories flood through my head, some good and some bad. Tears flow down my face as the chorus plays in the background.

I'm not her, no
Never will
Never gonna move like her,
Move like
I'm not her, no
Never will
Never gonna look like her, be
Like
I'm not her
I'm not her, no
At least that's what I've heard

It's true. I'll never be like her...he wanted her, not me.

Today, these lyrics hit harder than ever. I'm not her, no...