And If You Were A Flower
“And if you were a flower, you would undoubtedly be my marigold” - these words ring between my ears as I sit there thinking how far I have travelled from that moment, existing now only as a string of words insouciantly floating through my mind from time to time, making short, nostalgic appearances. I have come to believe that every person experiences a season that, regardless of the presence of grand gestures or abundance of adrenalin-filled memories, will live with them long after the flowers have wilted and the rocks have been turned over and back. In my case it was a warm summer five years back when I stumbled across the cobblestoned path to Harry.