The Little Sunflower


My moisturizer smells like summer. The scent fills my nose as I rest my face against my knuckles; sitting sideways on the green grandfather chair under my window. The cool breeze coming through the open window makes the sunflower on the sill sway, its head pointing in the direction of the afternoon sun as if controlled, set in a trance by the warm hues of its beaming eye.
I used to stare at the sun, like a sunflower; standing beside the ones in the field behind the house…. they concentrated and followed that ball of light from east to west everyday. Their stalks were tall, strong and the colour green that you could never seem to match even if you spent all day trying to mix the paint. I always wondered how they could be so strong without moving, just staring across the horizon, I only ever managed a few minutes before my eyes would begin to water , ache and all i’d be left with is the spots of red and orange speckling my vision.
Maybe it was me, that was not strong enough, I attempted to grow sunflowers myself when I was younger but the stalks would simply bend and wilt. I once used milk to water them because I learnt in school that milk made bones strong and in the mind of six year old that meant milk could give anything strength. The soil began to get moldy after a week as the milk turned in the heat of summer, my room smelt like the inside of a bin even with the amount of fabreeze my mum sprayed.

What’s weird is that she didn’t seem angry, I guess my reason behind using the milk was valid enough, she simply said “ daft petal, what’s good for you may not be so good for flowers”

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