It is valuable to recollect the days of keeping those flowers, the reason is obscure, but there's one thing obvious, for my frame of mind has experienced a dramatic process, with the life transit of flowers.
One month ago, when I was younger, I often wander around the crowd of colorful flowers of a stall, and appreciate their beauty silently. It's funny because I even don't want others gain an insight into my mind, that I became an "anthomaniac", who will be laughed at in this generation, so I pretend to be just passing from the crowd, walking from this side to another, busy as a bee. Each time I only stare at them for a short time, but their beautiful images were deeply engraved in my mind.
The situation has kept for a week, and during the period I think if only I can see them for a moment every day I will be satisfied. However later on I found it was not enough at all, if I could own them, they would be able to show their beauty whenever they want! How eager they were at that moment! Though they never talk.
Thinking this way, I select a beam of flower, who I personally thought are the most beautiful one in the crowd. I couldn't define their name, but they are neither noble roses, nor elegant lilies; they are neither missish tulips, nor delicate jasmine. Their beauty is very direct, brave, and even rampant, the shape of their petals is the same as sunshine, and the most attractive part is the color, which is rosy red, neither bloody nor dim as purple ones. How bright the color is! Whenever they were fairly standing in front of me, the gloomy would be driven away from my heart. So I must bring them home! On my way back, with the rosy shine of flowers reflect in my face, the scene caught the eyes of many people; at that moment I was virtually the most elegant person in the world.
The first a few days past slowly, for every morning I woke up and every evening I went back home, they would be checked very carefully, from their bottom to the top, from their stems to pistils. After that I change the bottle of water contaminating them, and moisten a piece of cloth, wipe every petal of them, in order to keep them as long as possible. I grasped them with profound respect and humility, like there was a sleepy goddess inside my arms, I must not disturb her sweet dream. Every day I spent half an hour to take care of them.
The doleful time could be frittered away so easily, I felt like this for the first time. Talking to them was really amazing, although I felt shy at the beginning, later on I just sang a lot of songs and even cry as a witch to them. The feeling is quite different from when I was writing a blog, but also a little bit similar, no reaction actually from anywhere, but I can image it for numerous possibilities, happy, agree, or angry, disagree, from numerous different hearts. I was not familiar with the soul of the flower goddess, but I believed in her. She must have a most kind heart and be tolerant with all the naughty things I have done to her, and I have not even a little bit blasphemy mind towards her, every ludicrous behavior of mine was proceeded from the most respect purpose.
The flowers were kept much longer than I expected. Nevertheless, every life would tend to old and death. After the flowers reached the peak of their lives, they began to droop, and their stems were not able to support their chaplets gradually, and their proud petals furled inch by inch, as they were too shame to show their oldness to me.
Now that it is the unavoidable tendency, there was no driving force to keep me making the effort every day as before. I helplessly looked at them, with no tears in my eye socket, became droop day by day. The situation went down the drain, so I made a decision, I moved the flowers out of my sight, so that I could forget their death generally.
Strangely, the more I do to forget them, the more clearly I remember their oldness. I took them out and observed their droop after a certain period of time. After a few revisions, I have accepted their oldness peacefully. They would never be beautiful again, so there's nothing to do with it. Their beauty is always blooming in my memory, forever and ever.
Keeping flowers only once in a whole life is absolutely enough for me, for my poor memory can not contain too many images of flowers, and I know the goddess would feel jealous if I repeat the whole process for lots of times. Farewell, dear flower!
