How did you find me? Where did you find me? Out in the desert? Yes, that's where I live.

But I haven't been outside in a while.

Yes, I remember now. I'm your desert flower and you picked me because I was the prettiest. And I let you snap my stem because a flower can see nothing but the cactus it grows on and we all grow tired of the view.

But I never wanted to be a flower.

I liked the view from your saguaro. I could see everything from the top, down. Such a lush, healthy plant. Then I found there was no water on the inside. It's withering, rotten on the inside. Sick and twisted on the inside.

But I hadn't been in love for a while.

I thought you were a noble, wise owl that had whisked me off to a better place, a higher cactus with the view I loved to watch so much. You would smile so when you caught me watching, smile with pride and puff out your feathers. False feathers. You were no owl: just a roadrunner with an owl's eyes that could penetrate the dark in our nest when I couldn't see. A roadrunner who suddenly had places to be, better places to be than the doorway watching me watching. Then I frowned at my lovely view as I strained to find an owl's feathers among the beige lizards and sandy rabbits. This was my mistake. I should have been watching for a roadrunner.

But I haven't been right in a while.

I was wrong and dismissed it, for how could I be troubled when a much lovelier view had entered my own home? You were so sweet with children.

But I haven't said their names in a while.

One. Two. And then I could dismiss it no longer. I had become a part if the cactus. Your owl eyes had done something in the dark and I began to see the roadrunner feathers. Retreating from me. And I began to see my babies were not owlets. And I knew that like the cactus I was withered, rotten on the inside. Sick and twisted on the inside. And I saw that your smirk was different from the doorway where you watched me watching. And it came to me: I had only ever seen the cactus I now grew on and that a flower will only ever see the cactus that she grows on.

But I never wanted to be a flower.

Flowers cannot hide in the desert. They are picked because they are pretty but then never watered.

I should have been a needle.

But I was born a flower. I die a flower.

And you never said "I love you".