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Bloom. Short Story | by Kaloyan Tsvetkov | Nov, 2021

Kaloyan Tsvetkov
Mamede, Michele. Dying Daisy. 8 Oct. 2006.

He likes me. He likes me not. He likes me. He likes me not. He likes me. He likes me not…

For I am merely a broken and rotting weed in a field of yellow and white blossoming daisies. A field full of opportunities. A field I am forbidden from. Yet, it is I who shall sacrifice its life to nourish this field of egoistic and arrogant blooms that have infested the terrain because such is life. The weak perish, and the strong conquer.

He likes me. He likes me not. He likes me. He likes me not…

As the weak are left to fend for themselves, alone, the powerful are gifted with life’s greatest work — Our work — which is never appreciated. Never thanked. But such is life. So, yes! Here I sit and wonder whether he likes me or he likes me not because that is irrelevant. It is as irrelevant as one’s favorite book or movie. It is as irrelevant as the death of that distant cousin you had heard of but never actually met. It is as irrelevant as the existence of our planet.

He likes me. He likes me not…

But I am not mad. No, not for the wrongdoings of this world. Or for that of my failing bloom. Not even for the life, other flowers are given. Such is life. A series of unfortunate events for one, and a podium, granting all of life’s beauties for the other. So, as my dying petals fade to the ground below and my green stem withers into a rotting brown, I am left here to wonder about the irrelevant. About whether,

he likes me. He likes me not. He likes me. He likes me not. He…


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