Passages

[passenger]

Swing in the wind
Sway in the sunlight
Hearts
Beating their own rhythm

There
You

[passenger]

*For letter "F"

You think you've fallen for that beautiful thing called Love,
But you don't.
You think you've finally found your other lost half in this vast world,
But you're mistaken.
A game? A plot? A play?
Or it's only a pure sympathy for a crying soul of loneliness?
Game has its ending.
Plot has its revealing.
Play has its last moment of curtain-shut.
Sympathy then becomes a shame of guilt, regret & embarrassment.
Phải không?

So, be You, just - for whatever you intent or determine to be.
And I'll just be I - for whatever my life or my time has left.

Is that fair enough?

[passenger]

[passenger]

[passenger]

[passenger]

[passenger]

Và bà lão đã trả lời ông lão:
"I'm waiting for you to come home to bury me with a rose!"
Ông lão cười khành khạch một tràng qua speakeriphone rồi biến mất.
Bà lão got a delivery of a wildflower bouquet instead.
Ông lão vốn là một NĐO độ lượng!!

[passenger]

[passenger]

...Khi mặt trời rơi vào đêm
Vầng trăng quên đi ngủ...

[passenger]

Hanakotoba*
(The Language of Flowers - Japanese)

When I was little, my mother often gave me flowers.
She would make me a crown of Primroses that smells like the day my father left us.
I would smile and dance a little twirl that had her smiling fondly at her little princess.
Said she couldn't live without me.
I believed her.
Right before my mother decided to stop breathing, she gave me a bouquet of Lily of the valley.
I never knew that apology was poisonous.

The day I turned fifteen, my grandmother gave me a book on flowers.
It was written with green ink and bound in human skin.
Said that it was family heirloom.
Said that the universe needed someone who understand Hanakotoba.
Said that I was born to understand only them and to remember that flowers are ephemeral.
I cradled the book, feeling as if the world was spinning.
Opening it feels like coming home after a long time of drowning.
By the time I realized, a bush of Basil and beds of Petunias were growing in my home like weed.
The color should have been red instead of purple.

I met you when you were giving a bundle of daisy to a boy.
The boy scoffed and slapped the daisies to the ground.
Its petal were falling apart just as blue and black blooms like an eager bud on you.
Your body were taut as a string but your face was smiling, the kind of smile I couldn't decipher the meaning.
I picked the daisies up and asked if i could keep it. You said only if I gave you my name.
You were wreathed with White Hyacinth and Pine leaves. It suits you.

You told me one day, after you gave me a Bleeding Heart, that I needed to learn more than the languages that flower speak.
That I needed to learn human.
I asked you why do you say that?
You looked at me, with a little smile and a soft look on your face.
Told me that I was too oblivious, I was more flower than human.
I frowned and said:"That hurts".
Your laughter was much more sweeter than any Honeysuckle.
Though I still didnt understand your laughter nor the Bleeding heart.

The sight of our hands lacing together, looks much more delicate than Queen Anne laces.
It made me aware of the dips of your lips, how warm your callouses hands were.
And the way you sometimes darts to sneak a glance at me with warmth in your eyes when you thought I wasn't looking.
I would feel my heart thumping loudly and I would disentangle our hands, trying to hide the tremors in my hands.
You would pursed your lips and cracked a joke.
The next day I received a bouquet of Lilacs and red Peonies.
It was too beautiful and I was already withering.

You often asked If I was okay.
I said I was.
You would go rigid at that and started to pull down all the blinds to your soul.
But that day when I answered I was okay, you gave me an Orange mock.
Said that I can trust you. You left without meeting my eyes.
That night, I left a single Aster on your window sill. Hoping I did the right thing.

The thing was, I was scared.
Not of you, no, never of you.
That I swear on White Lilies and Myrtles that we bound our self to.
It's just, every time I'm with you I want to bare my self naked.
To let you see how the parasites are growing inside me, withering me as it did my mother.
My grandmother would say that it is our legacy we cannot escape.
To grow and bloom then wither our self after the peak.
My Grandmother was a Sakura tree, My Mother an Ajisai, and I was a Tsubaki.
My mother was supposed to lived longer than me.
But Hydrangeas needed their rain or they'll wither away.

You told me once, that I remind you of Wisterias.
Always enduring even after the cruelest storm.
I grimaced and whacked you on the back.
Said that you were an idiot for thinking that.
You laughed again and tickled me until I asked for mercy.
I feel less Tsubaki and more human with you.

I never let you go to my home.
Because I could not bear the thoughts of you seeing the lawn strewn Marigolds, the grief that latched itself to the soil.
How the yards was filled with weeds and plants that was tangling them self to choke each other.
How the walls was bare and the furniture was only enough to survive.
The only thing that was lending colors to my home were the branches of Plum Blossom.
And bouquet of Lilacs and Peonies that seems to not wither away.
This home would not hold further.

I gave you Blue Carnations the night when vines were choking my lungs
Making it hard for me to breathe.
You said they were beautiful, and smiled a serene smile.
I wanted to kiss you so bad, but I was leaking clear salty sap, that was rolling down my cheeks.
I told you all about Hana and all about my family.
How bare my home is and how you are my Iris, my good news, my good tidings.
You hugged me, not minding the sap that's staining your shirt.
I didn't see the Red Camellia you were tucking in my hair.

The day when I almost gave you Red Daisies and Lungwort.
Was the day I found out that you had severe allergy to flowers.
That breathing their pollen would shorten your life.
As the breath you took became a privilege that you were slowly losing.
I asked, "Why would you endanger yourself like that?".
"I love flowers, that's all", you said with an uncaring shrug.
The thoughts of you withering away, made me nauseous.
I went home throwing away the Daisies and Lungwort.
Burning down the marigolds and Petunias.
The only thing was left were Hana and the bouquet of Lilacs and Red Peonies.
I never get to told you that my roots was withering.

When you found me lying on my home, covered with Primroses, Camellias, and Blood Red Poppies.
I know that you knew.
In your hand were Peach Blossoms and they were so very beautiful.
You cradled me close to your chest.
Whispering that I will be okay, that It's unfair for me to do this to him.
"I know", I rasped.
My voice was barely working and Black-Red sap was steadily tricking from the corner of my lips.

When I saw my mother walking down to me, carrying a basket full of Sweet Peas, Volkamenia, and Yarrows.
I understand what your smile meant the first time we met.
It was Red Camellias, Love and Acceptance.

*Written by Nabs, a dedicated tribute to Flowers.