She poked up from the dry ground much too early. Her leaves were dry and rough, and the sun was unforgiving. It was simply that this blond, beautiful young child went through the case of wrong place at the wrong time.
"Rain, rain come again"
I meet her in first grade. Her small freckled face didn't cry, though it looked like it wanted to. Maybe she was trying to save water that made up those wonderful blue eyes. It had been a hot day after all. It had been as hot as the look in the other children's eyes when she looked up shyly and introduced herself.
"Heal my skin"
Time flew by and the bud known as Chloe began to open. She forced open her milk white petals much too fast for the others liking. It turned out she grew too fast for her parents liking as well. What good is a child who you can't see ignorance in? That must be what they thought.
She wasn't ignorant, she had forced her eyes open and looked to the world. While others spoke of boring day plans, she spoke of the illness that was human over-population and the horror that was unfair taxes.
She grew ignored by them, only I could see the hidden beauty, but I strayed away. I chose death-breath smokes over her and her drying eyes.
"Please heal my pain"
Soon we were teenagers, and she bloomed into a full grown beauty. It was too bad really, the others' burning eyes hadn't left, and they had grown sharp thorns in their years of growth. But Chloe did everything like she never noticed it. I suppose she finally got that ignorance her parents had wanted.
I learned to love her, in a way one comes to love the thing everyone else hates. I asked her out, my gut was full of butterflies that ate away at me. She smiled that mysterious smile of hers, and declined. I had reached for my smokes, only to realize I was out.
"No ones coming anyway"
I learned a little bit later that Chloe had been wilting on the inside, and had died by her own angry hands.
It took me awhile and a lot of smokes, but I finally got that revelation everyone talks about. It was simple really, she was withering from lack of water. She was withering the day she poked up in from the sands much too early; she was sucked dry and poked with the thorns of those who she tried so hard to be.
She was a lovely Water Lilly, trying to be a Desert Rose. She had been damned from the start.
"Rain, rain come again."
Author's Note:
The littel poem goes as so.
Rain, rain come gain
heal my skin
and ease my pain,
no ons coming anyway,
rain,rain come again.
I made it a while ago.
Also, this story was made a while back.
