Flower

Her hand reaches for his while the other hand wipes the tears from her cheek.
They walk.
Silent.
He can hear her little heart break with each slow methodical step.
She stops.
Sits on a rock while slowly kicking the grass and dirt in tiny little circles.
She sighs and says:
“Daddy? You see that flower over there? No, the red and yellow one with black speckles and the white swirls. I wanna be like the flower. Ya know why? Because the flower just is. There is no better or not. The flower isn’t even concerned that it’s a flower. It just is. The flower and I are a lot alike. I remember you telling me that when I was younger and not so sad. Now; it’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow always hurts. Never, it seems, is it ok to just be today. No more. Today is now. Here. With you. I like the flower.”

© Carlson, 2014

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