Erin Anastasia - How to Love A Flower lyrics

"How to Love A Flower" It was on his way home from school that he first saw her. Tulip. She had the most elegant posture, and the perfect amount of hot pink sa** he asked, “Girl, how do you stand so tall like that? Can I take you home? Love you in secret spaces when we're all alone? Place you in a crystal vase on my kitchen table so you can look so pretty, but just for me?” Her proud head nodded what he thought was a yes and continued to nod long after she was stripped of her leaves and slipped into his long narrow vase and when she grew tired of nodding she bowed her face and when she grew tired of bowing she withered away and when she was only dust resting at the bottom of his expectations, He buried the broken vase out back by the shed, shed off the layers of guilt until he could love again and when he did her name was Daisy and Daisy, talked too fast and loved even faster. She always wore white and other girls swore she wasn't a virgin but no one ever had the guts to ask her. and when her father fled west after the teachers got word of what he did to her things got, a bit darker. and her white petals began to curl, started to brown at the edges. And when she closed she said, “I'm ruined. so please, don't try and love me.” But he tried. He used his rough fingertips to pry her petals open to see the story which she wasn't yet ready to tell. “You can be happy,” he said. “See? My love can make you happy. Please, you were so beautiful, when you were open.” but all his desperate efforts only resulted in a handful of petals all of which he had broken. That night, the wind took her to the town across the river, and it's been three years since they've last spoken. And it's been three years, since he's last loved. That was, until the winter melted into lush green lawns and he took a walk down to the airy park where a girl happened to be sitting on a patch of the greenest gra**. She had endless layers like pages to a good book which he would never ever try to pry open. Her name was Rose. And when he saw her roots he knew she belonged to no one but the earth and when he saw her thorns he knew her neck would never know the pain of a crisp *snap*. and that she would never stand shaking as decoration in somebody else's home, No. There would be no plucked petals like, “Does she love me? Does she love me not?” because this love was not up to him, nor was it up to her, but it was up to them, if they would wait in patience and admiration of each others' blossoming if they would hold each other to not to possess, but to protect. If they would sit in the summer air's warm silent breath, with soft petals and palms faced up toward the sun her saying thank you, for this moment of love, him saying thank you for the most beautiful flower that ever was.