You have witnessed tragedy in the form of seduction.
I dipped my feather in blood and created mountains and rivers.
I poured summers heat into a body. I translated my demons screech and deciphered their torture.
Then I presented it to you in the form of a poorly written, action packed novel.
And with open arms, you embraced it. Me.
You've seen the colors fade from the pages, you've witnessed the ink run dry, then watched as I split another vein to begin another.
And another. And another. And another.
Until my vulnerability could no longer hide behind pages and characters that stemmed from my soul.
You've watched me retreat back into soil, wither and blossom again.
New substance. New meaning. New life: You poured into me.
And I find this exceptionally difficult.
My stories spoke of hope, faith and recovery and yet the author behind, does not sing the same tune.
Please don't think differently of my creations. You can think differently of me but those stories were for you all and always will be.
Thank you for being the reason Flower even existed.
Thank you for her reign.
Thank you for your support.
And I'm sorry to you all.
I love you.
So let us rejoice for the new season.
A new flower will hopefully be born. Actually, I'm sure of it. So treat them well. Whoever you are. And if you just happen to read this.
Please keep replanting yourself. For yourself. For us. For all the people who weren't strong enough. All the people who couldn't hold on.
Be our face. Be their voice.
You will be victorious.
