The sun’s warmth paints my skin with gold flakes. Sweeping rays sing a smooth melody. I swear it glistens when brushing past my cheekbones, pearlescent pink. I yearn to be enveloped by its embrace, stretch across the sun’s surface, and succumb to its song.
Bundled alongside blossoming yellow petals, green stems stretch upwards into blue. We cradle together under golden light, soaking in its love as our heads turn to its glow.
Hollowed stems, the sunflowers match my emptiness.
The garden hums. Bees twirl freely, basking in the slight breeze shifting through the leaves. Their small furry bodies bump into me lazily, drunk in the day’s warmth. A gentle prod at my hair, a bee spins in circles around my ear, its buzz a soft beckoning tune.
An insistent tingle thrums in my veins, energy rushing through my body like a child’s sugar rush.
A photosynthetic manipulation.
I feel like spinning, letting dirt cake on my fingertips, as paint flecks stick to my hand from the chipped railing.
Pale green steps crumble underfoot at the edges. Sprouting out from mountainous bushes and spreading wildflowers, they blend into the background, another stalky shade to perfect the image. Open sunflower seeds scatter across its surface, woody shells melding with cracking steps patched together with broken tile. Well loved, it forms a mosaic. Broken pieces craft a whole.
Unity. Nostalgia urges return.
Worms squirmed about in my palms, pushing at the soft fleshy fatness. Butterflies draped themselves upon my head like a crown, twirling to avoid my outstretched hands. Plush, green flower stems stained a watery yellowish mark as their stems snapped. The breeze brushed past my cheeks, sticky from fruit. Resting in the shaded steps, flowers tower over the stairs, brushes of sunlight streaming through cracked leaves.
The low, simple hum of nature radiated peace. Happily turning my head towards the sun in awe, I praised the sunflowers for their dedication. I attempted to emulate their beauty, dressed in green garden boots and tiny yellow bows.
The happy tranquility.
The modern hollow mediocrity.
Sunlight cuts through the window, heating up thick glass, greasy fingerprints streaking the surface. A blinding spotlight tunnels through. Inside feels stale and chokingly thick, heavy with scented perfume. Snipped flowers rest in vases as they slowly wilt, petals dropping onto the floor.
Sunflowers rest aside sweet tea in sweating glasses.
The sunflowers still follow the sun with their head, tuned to the light. Maybe, one day, the sun will turn to them
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