He was a flower.
A beautiful, delicate thing. He possessed petals of a deep, vivid purple, soft and almost translucent under the light.
He recognized it immediately, it was just like the one in his dream.
Only, this time, there was no garden, no other flowers or warmth stretching endlessly around him.
Just him.
Rooted.
Still.
Alone.
"*****, my sweet, sweet flower boy!"
The voice came like sunlight, it was warm and familiar.
The moment he heard it, something inside him loosened, something tight and aching that he hadn't even realized was there.
Happiness.
Pure and immediate.
'Mom…'
He couldn't clearly see her face, but it didn't matter.
He knew her.
He would recognize her anywhere.
Her voice, her presence, it wrapped around him like something safe, something unquestionable.
She was beautiful.
Tall.
Her eyes, he couldn't see them, but he felt them watching, like she always does when she's worried.
'Mom… is that really you?'
It was such a childish thought.
