Jasmine

As I watered the sunflowers, I saw my favorite one. I named her “Jasmine”, because when I smell her I smell the flower of her name. Again, it’s silly, but I love watching a flower grow or looking at the sun, picking its seeds. “Jasmine” was special in the way that she was a center of attention. Like she is the youngest child in the family. She reminds me of my youngest sibling and their ways of seeking attention from my mother, always getting it and being praised for everything they do.

But here with “Jasmine”, I don’t feel the bitterness as I felt when I was a teen with a family of six and being the oldest. It’s rather the warmth of a parent seeing a kid getting the attention it deserves. I get closer and water her. I imagine her future one day until I see her petals rot a bit. A sense of panic hit me. I rip them out, so the flower can keep growing and flourishing. But each day I came back, there were more and more rotten petals and the steam was weaker. She slumped a bit down, as she looked miserable in her state.

I tried everything to save her, water, I replanted her somewhere better, fertilizer and even pulled all her rotten petals out. Nothing. My “Jasmine” was rotting. I watched her rot in front of me until her body was on the floor. The feeling of despair hit me harder than I wished. Seeing something so special like that rot is an unnatural feeling. The surrounding sunflowers looked at her, judging her end as they still thrived before her lying corpse.

My partner comforted me as I cried for her. They know how emotional I can get. Oh, my poor “Jasmine”, why did I have to let you rot? Whining tearfully as I had to get her off of the ground and carry her to the closet with the others.

“Jasmine” my dear flower. The beautiful way you shine will be missed. I hold my partner’s hand as I pull them out onto the field to watch the rest of the children of mine. Every time a sunflower rots, I feel emptier and emptier than I realized not every flower deserves to last. My silly thoughts and sadness of a weak flower disappear as this new thought comes in each time this happens. Sympathy in me dies each time my thoughts get darker.

“Darling, are you okay? You must be distraught again.” My partner mutters.

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time this has happened.” I answered quickly. Looking at the rest of my field of my children.