Broken
If I were to die today, I'd die a broken woman.
A Flower that Blooms at its Own Pace
More than ten years ago I received a few bulbs of lilies, my favorite flowers, from an acquaintance. I planted the bulbs in our front yard and it turns out that the bulbs that I thought all the same were actually two groups of different species of lilies. What species are they exactly I do not have the slightest idea. All I know is that the pink ones bloom continuously throughout the year. But the other one, the fiery red-orange variant, is elusive. It blooms at a certain time of the year only, during the hottest months, April to May. After May, the flowers start dying altogether, and stops blooming, until the next year again, in the same months. What makes these flowers so special and so engrossing to me, beside their beauty of course, is how seldom they bloom. They were there for only two months; two months to admire their beauty, and then they're gone. It's like a reminder how something beautiful can also be ephemeral. Perhaps it's the transitory nature of things
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