"What is your favourite flower?" he asked.
It startled me more than I expected.
A foreign question.
One I wasn't used to being asked.
It made me pause, search my mind for something so simple,
yet so distant from the usual conversations I have had.
It took a moment, but I remembered.
"My favourite flower is a sunflower," I said,
the words soft on my tongue,
like I was confessing a secret I didn't know I still carried.
His face lit up, curiosity spilling from his eyes,
and for a second I felt seen, not for what I do,
but for what I love.
Sunflowers are vulnerable.
They are bare.
They are honest and pure.
They face the sun, unashamed.
They grow tall, unapologetic.
They are bright and dazzling,
confident and unafraid.
That is what I have always aspired to be.
Someone who can be loved with all my imperfections.
With my stretch marks.
With my small frame and my soft stomach.
With my cute face and my small eyes.
With a smile that can brighten a room.
That, to me, is loyalty.
That, to me, is devotion.
These deep and simple questions make my heart smile.
The consideration behind them.
The way they bring calm to my storms.
And I wonder,
am I ready to love again?
Am I willing to be loved,
to give love back without holding the door half-open?
Your scent lingers in my mind.
The smell of you steadies me.
It feels like sunlight on my skin,
like a sunflower turning its face to the warmth.
Dear X,
you brought this to me.
You reminded me to breathe.
Yet even the brightest flowers know
that sunlight does not stay forever.
And I do not know if I am ready
to watch the light fade again.