It just so happens that life throws certain things at you. Like a book you keep seeing either in someone’s bookshelf, or in a train while someone is reading it, or in some other random non nondescript place. Life keeps throwing certain things at you until you finally give in to its higher scheming and just accept what it has to offer, in the case of books it has always been a beautiful experience for me.

But this time its not a book that life’s been throwing at me, not a dress, not a pen, no not a thing. A word. A ‘wildflower’. I stumble upon this word somewhere or the other, and call it wishful thinking or just an excuse to write, here I am thinking about what a wildflower means to me.

Now that I think about it, I ask myself if I could compare myself with one. Maybe, maybe not. I wonder if wildflowers feel bad when they look around themselves at those pretty bunch of roses, or even at a thicket of trees. What have they got to do all day? Watching everything from outside, maybe wishing for an escape into a beautiful world. Or maybe they look from the outside and see the world as it really is and feel glad that they aren’t a part of that beautiful show. I wonder if they see the thorns that come with those pretty roses or I wonder if they see how everything is pruned to fit someone else’s idea of beauty.

I would like to believe that they feel glad to not be a part of that world. I would definitely be proud to believe that they would feel refreshing in their wildness, that they would enjoy those generous showers of rains without having to worry about heavy drops ruining their petals, I would like to believe that they would love to stand tall in the summer sun, as if reaching out to kiss it, and I would be simply overjoyed if they’d bloom all over in the winter snow, shining bright with fresh dew. I would love to believe all that.

Would I call myself a wildflower? Maybe not, I crib about not having enough in life and get sad about things that had never been. But maybe yes. I’d like to stand tall and embrace my uniqueness, I’d love to think that I can’t be restrained like those pretty lilies, roses, orchids; the works. I’m a wildflower, and I’ll grow wherever I will want to, I’ll be everywhere I’ll want to be.


3 thoughts on “Wildflower

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