Story cover for daffodils  by Sulieman35
daffodils
  • WpView
    Reads 20
  • WpVote
    Votes 4
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
  • WpView
    Reads 20
  • WpVote
    Votes 4
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Mar 14, 2019
Daffodils is a flower very nice and beautiful 
I can remember when my lovely fiance give me one very cool with fragrance... 
One day She disappear with out waving goodbye I felt bad and i decided to write for her. I wanted to tell her that She left some memory in my life.
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Featured by @Romance .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. "Why do you make these paper flowers?" He asked, looking at her through the mirror. "They don't wither like the real ones." She replied, aligning the entire bunch of paper flowers. "But they don't have the fragrance." He politely challenged her. He was a soldier. Chivalrous was his middle name. "These paper flowers, they stay with you for as long as you want. You don't really have to throw them away like people discard the real ones. They pluck them for the fragrance and colors. But once that fades, they throw it away." She said, finally looking up at him. "Not everyone!" He added almost immediately, taking one more step forward. It could be his height or his longer stride, or maybe the room was too small as it only took him two steps to reach her. "Yeah! Of course! Exceptions are there, like poets and people in love." She walked in a different direction, putting those flowers on the table. He rolled his eyes with a defeated sigh. She was a teacher. Arguing with her was as futile as making a sand castle on a seashore. "You know, gone is the era when people used to preserve the flowers of their loved ones. We don't have people like that anymore!" She said as she faced him. "We don't have that kind of love anymore." He said looking straight into her eyes. She held his gaze through the mirror for a while, trying to read through him. "I agree." Murmuring under her breath, she turned around. Taking a deep breath, watching her retreating figure, he brought out his favorite poetry book from the shelf. After he was sure she was not looking, he ruffled through the pages till he found a dried Hibiscus. The very same one which had fallen from her bag when he first saw her. With a small smile, he cautiously caressed the petals. He closed the book with a fond sigh and found her looking at him. She couldn't hold his gaze for long and looked down, crimson covering her cheeks. He shook his head with a chuckle.
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I made a promise, a commitment, a vow, and an oath that I'd never fall into the brutality they call love ever again, as it is something not to be toyed with. Think of it this way: Love is like a scented candle. The candle stick and the waxed aroma make the candle itself. Then it's ignited by a great inferno, and together, they make a beautiful thing. It burns for a long time, but then it loses that flame, that spark that ignited the creature. I guess the two most important ingredients gave up on each other. "Love" can be a metaphor, a simile, but most of all, a promise. A promise that can't be kept, something that waits until infinity to be broken. At least that's what I, Roseabella Swayed, once believed.