The Sun and the Sunflower

Spring; the season of new lives and new beginnings.

How ironic for your life to come to an abrupt end in such a season.

The flowers bloom wonderfully in the sun, no longer hiding away in the winter clouds. They thrive in the fresh drizzle of last night’s rain.

The flowers at your grave, however, could have some more taking care of. Perhaps I should plant some seeds instead, that way, I’d have a reason to visit often to take care of you and the flowers. Take it as an apology for not visiting as much as I should have. Are there any that you particularly like?

I know you always loved sunflowers; you loved the fact that they were always facing the sun. Just like you.

You would visit the sunflower fields a bike ride away from home any chance you got, dragging me along to join you. You would frolic in your cute sundress, also adorned with the very flowers you love, the yellow reflecting a warm glow to your bright smile as you run towards the setting sun.

For me, you were the sun.

The seed of our relationship was us being in the same neighborhood. I wasn’t one to engage with others back then (not that that’s changed). I preferred to keep to myself… until you came barging in. Ignorant of how all the other children avoided me like the plague, you invaded my solitary world, asking to play together, and no was apparently not in your dictionary.

You were a nuisance at first, never leaving me alone, but somehow along the way I eventually warmed up to you. Your brightness was too powerful, and it only grew as we got older. Before I knew it, I could no longer take my eyes off of you. Perhaps, because of your outgoing demeanor, you were always easy to spot among the crowd despite how small you were. No one could ever miss your presence.

(I miss your presence.)

But then I started actively looking for you wherever I went, even if you weren’t around. I was always hoping to run into you, to be immersed in your warmth that brought me content happiness. Luckily(?) for me, you would still never leave me alone, to the point that you’ve invaded my mind as well. Every moment apart from you, you would instead keep me company by occupying my mind.

I grew into your sunflower, always yearning to reach you, in our budding high school years.

Yet, as tall as a sunflower may grow, they will never reach the sun.

Maybe the problem was that I hadn’t grown enough, hadn’t fully bloomed, for I was too much a coward to ever confess to you, in fear of ruining the relationship we already had with my feelings being unrequited. You were always so popular with everyone, yet never accepted any confessions. You said it was because everyone only likes an illusion of you, the illusion of the version they wanted of you.

Maybe I had a sliver of a chance if only I wasn’t a coward. I had the privilege to grow up to know nearly every version of you:

the version of you that went from playing with the dirt to becoming a total green thumb, always having a conversation with your plants to “help them grow”;

the version of you that loved being out in the fields where the sunflowers bloomed, all dressed up and ready for a picnic;

the version of you that gets so emotional over movies;

the version that is stubborn and refused to back down until you were content when it came to competition;

the version that had a strong sense of justice, intolerant to any bullying or underhanded tricks;

the version of you that always put everyone else first, no matter how much you wanted or needed something for yourself;

the version of you that refused to show signs of weakness, keeping everything to yourself to not worry anyone else.

…Was that why you decided to leave?

Was letting anyone else share your burdens such a sin for you?

You’re human, you know. You didn’t need to be perfect all the time.

Everyone loves you so much, they’d accept you however you are.

It was just unfortunate that there were too many expectations and responsibilities pushed on to you, pushed towards a pedestal that felt too high for you.

I’m not one to talk though, I was too ignorant, blinded by my own feelings for you, to notice your struggles. I’m sorry about that. For me to call myself your closest friend, I did a pathetic job being there for you.

As the sun, all the sunflowers always looking up at you was too much, wasn’t it?

Winter came and you never showed yourself ever again. We spent many days without the sun in sight, blocked by the murky clouds.

On the night of one of the worst storms, which was unusual for the beginning of spring, was when we heard what happened to you.

Along with the heavy rain, everyone wept at the loss of you. I was especially angry at myself for not having noticed sooner.

The thundering storm clouded my heart and mind. Losing you was so painful, it felt like I wilted into an unrecognizable weed. I could no longer face the sun, my sun. How could I possibly forgive myself for being ignorant of the one I supposedly loved? “Without my sun there’s no longer any reason for me to raise my head again,” was what I always thought. It took nearly a year for me to force myself to get my life back together.

After all, it’s too late to dwell on regrets now, right?

I don’t think you’d want that.

I’m sorry for not visiting sooner. I was a coward. I hope you weren’t getting too lonely. I’m here now, though.

I brought a bouquet for you. I’m not that good in flowerology(?) but I hope its helps convey to you the feelings I never got to tell you. Cheesy, I know. The florist had to help me too. I’d have loved to put in more sunflowers but they don’t usually fit in bouquets too well. Unless you wanted a bouquet of just sunflowers next time?

Oh wait, I did say that I would plant some instead. Your green ass would probably get way more excited over that, wouldn’t you? Alright, I’ll come back and get that all started as soon as I get everything.

Until next time, my sun.

With that, I slowly get up from sitting next to the grave and make my way back home, watching as the sun sets. I pull out a single daffodil from my pocket, given to my by the florist before I left with the bouquet, twirling it in my hands.

To new beginnings. For you, this sunflower will bloom again.