Daisy


"I got you this."

It was a rose.

Rubicund and seemingly just plucked out on someone's garden. Regardless, it was beautiful and she cannot contain the redness in her cheeks.

They are walking somewhere—he wouldn't tell her. A secret, he said.

"There—look." His calm voice nudged her out of her stance. She did look and saw a field of blooming roses. "My mother loves to plant." He said in his bright tone.

But the roses hadn't caught her attention, really, but a lone daisy stood, inches in the middle of the clashing reds. He must've caught her staring when he shyly scratch the back of his head and said, "That's the only flower I ever gotten to grow. I don't want to pluck it out, it-it reminds me of you."