Every day on my drive to school, I pass by this spa on Soquel ave.
I couldnt tell you the name, but I know that there's a wood sign.
And underneath the sign, a plethora of daffodils.
Just sitting there.
Vibrant and beautiful, like they were screaming for me to look at them.
But they werent.
They just sat there. Waiting to die.
Every day I passed those daffodils, I was tempted to pull over and pick them.
I wanted them in a vase beside my bed,
So every morning, they would be the first thing I see when I open my eyes.
They consumed my mind.
Every day I passed those daffodils, I wondered if anyone else saw them.
I wondered if anyone else was secretly longing to pluck them.
Which made me anxious,
Because in my head, those were my daffodils.
One day, I had enough.
I pulled over and got out of my car.
It was broad daylight, and I was scared.
But I knew this is what I had been yearning for,
Yet for some reason,
a wave of guilt and shame washed over me.
As I inched towards the daffodils, I noticed they suddenly werent as vibrant as I remembered.
I stopped and looked at them.
The yellow had faded into a dull cream color.
The fiery orange center was folded over on itself.
It made me sad.
The cars on soquel whooshed by me,
As I stood there contemplating whether or not to pluck these daffodils.
Then walked back to my car.
I dont know why I walked away.
I just did.
I still pass by them every day on my way to class.
But now,
they are dried up.
Faded. Wilted. Dead.
They died right in front of me,
And I did nothing to stop it.
I watched it happen.
I saw their whole life.
I grieve them like I would a friend.
I think about whether anybody else saw those daffodils.
or stopped to look at them,
Or turned their heads when driving past.
I sure hope so.
Or else their existence would be for nothing.
and that would suck ass.