I learned in Botany class that the sunflower's face follows the sun all the way across the sky. It kind of reminded me of her. The way her visage remained so young and innocent and always in the light. You loved her soft golden hair and her tall stature.
And I started thinking of myself as a rose--one that many people plucked from the bush under the impression that it was beautiful, but quickly dropped because it had too many thorns. You loved that I didn't sleep at night just to talk to you.
But maybe some aspect of me was a sunflower too, because my face always followed the sun--you.
And they say...they say the sun loved the moon so much he gave her his light just so people could see how she shone. I'd like to think the sunflower spends her entire day just looking up at the sun, probably wondering how someone earthly like her could ever dare to fall in love with a celestial enormity. But nobody ever feels sorry for her, do they?
So maybe I am half-sunflower; maybe I'm a horticultured hybrid. I loved the splendid bright rays of your smile and how nobody ever got close enough to explore you. Maybe I'll always need you to keep me yellow.
