AN : well, this is a short drabble of the point of view from Rachel's wedding bouquet. I know it isn't great, but as a summer writing challenge, I'm supposed to write from different points of view. You can except up and coming stories similar to this one. Anyways, ENJOY!

Disclaimer: don't own, sadly.

I lay on the dresser, next to the mirror where the bride stood with a straight face. Rachel Berry, I've heard, is her name, and from what her maid of honour, Santana Lopez, has said, she hasn't looked more beautiful.

Now, I couldn't say that this was true, I mean, I've only known her since she picked me out three weeks ago at the florist's. She had looked stunning that day, her hair pulled back out of her face, a nervous grin plastered on her face. Santana had been with her that day, and she had actually been the one to see me. My arrangement.

"Gold stars, Rachel."

"Don't be silly, Santana, they're yellow star shaped lilies."

Santana didn't say anything, just merely walked to the counter to speak with Maryann about wedding bouquets. Rachel stayed, and reached out to feel my petals, one at a time.

The connection was instant, I could feel her happiness.

Almost every bride is happy, but Rachel had an actual shine to her. Pure happiness. It wasn't forced, I could tell, never had been. This love, their love, was equal and wonderful. Their marriage would be one I would be proud to be apart of, to have been saw at.

"Like my metaphor," Rachel stroked my stems, and I felt a jolt. She had just decided on me. "Gold stars."

She breathed my scent in, a wispy bit of hair coming out of the pony tail and tickled me.

"I'm exactly where I want to be because of them, you know." This time she wasn't speaking to me, but to Santana and Maryann. "New York, with my best friends. With my sister, San. I'm happy because of them."

I wasn't golden, by any mean, but I could tell she wasn't looking at my colour and my shape was only star-like because I had been spread out to look like so, but that didn't matter to her either. It was like I was another hidden metaphor.

Now she stood by my side, her hair flowing down her back, and that nervous, but happy, smile quivering.

Santana came in, and raised an eyebrow, white flowers in her hands. "Rachel."

She looked away from the mirror, and gulped.

"Yes?"

"Its time."

The first time I see her husband-to-be was as we started down the aisle.

He was taller than herself, towering over her actually. But then again, she was quite short to begin with. He looked dashing in his suit, and had this look on his face that didn't remind me of any others.

Santana called it the Rachel-Berry-Look.

She also said she dibs having their first child named after her.

His haircut was what drew him to be interesting though. A Mohawk centered his head, and he kept running his hand through it.

Rachel took short strides, and as she got closer, that quivering nervous smile disappeared, and transformed in a magnificent smile. Her teeth showed, and she practically skipped to him.

As she reached him, I feel myself being passed to Santana, who looked just as happy as the couple.

Even though I was out of Rachel's hands, I could still hear her.

"Are you sure about this Noah?"

He smiled.

"Bring it."

And that's when I knew they would be happy, they would be a deranged kind of perfect.

As Santana whispered to no one, "Puckleberry."