Random Short Stories

Daisy

The rose is a symbol of love.

Not for me. I never understood why so many women out there would enjoy the company of a flower which is dyed the sickening shade of blood.

And you knew that.

Every year, I would receive a small handmade bouquet of daises, freshly picked from your garden.

After being with you, the pure white flower became my favourite.

You know, everytime I see these flowers littering the sides of the roads, I am reminded of you.

I wonder if she likes your daises as much as i do.

Or do you buy her those crimson red flowers like every guy does for their girl?

You know, daisies are a symbol of true love.

But your love for me came and went just like a summer's wind.