Title; Snail Love
Summary; He had so much love to offer her. So much love to compliment her beauty and make her the brightest of the garden. But first she needed to say something, even if it was just a simple "hello."
Dedication; My dear, dear Rippage, who I love very much and who was supposed to stay up with me as a wrote this, but didn't. Oh woe. :(

Everday he passed the garden, moving slower than a leaf carried by the practically nonexistent wind. But every day, he took almost five hours crawling to the garden to stare at his beauty, compliment her and try to converse with her, before turning back around and heading home. Back home where no one awaited him, no one stole his gaze with his or her beauty. He'd spend every second of his life in that garden, in front of that one flower, if it meant that she'd look his way just once and say "hello."

"Hello, flower," he said with such soft gestures he was sure she would notice him. "You're looking beautiful today. Your petals are looking extra soft. Oh, I love how purple and pink look so splendid on you." And as he continued to compliment and compliment, running out of things to impress her and grab her attention, his tone turned from hopeful to disappointed. But his flower didn't seem to care, so he turned around and slowly made his way home.

The persistant snail, praying each day she'd look his way, continued to stop by the garden. Plenty of other flowers, tall and gorgeous, colorful and dull, gentle and harsh, were capable of catching his attention. He didn't glance their way, though. His heart, however puny and unwanted, was only for her, the flower that stood so meek and timid at the front, curling toward the ground like the sun was too brilliant to look at. And while that might be true, the snail believe her to be the only one worthy of the sun's rays, and he told her so, many times. Still she never showed her beautiful face to the snail, and he slowly grew more and more disappointed by the day.

He watched, still dropping by every day, as his flower went from a sweet, innocent bud to a full-grown flower. With each passing day he fell deeper and deeper in love with her. Even though she never looked at him, or replied to his compliments, or even acknowledged his existence, he fell in love. Her posture changed over time, from weak and timid to strong and passionate, and he could tell from gestures like that that she was growing healthier and stronger, happy with her life. And he was happy for her, happy her life was pleasant and becoming better, even though he didn't have any role in it other than dropping by each day to compliment her beauty and express his undying love.

But slowly, as the days continued to passed, her posture changed once more. Her strong and passionate stance fell into one that was tired and weary. Her petals began to wrinkle, pink and purple colors folding into each other as her face once again hid from the brilliant sun. Her stem began to twist, her leaves shriveling, turning from a vibrant green to a dirty tan. And even though her beauty seemed to be decreasing with each hour, he still believed she was the most attractive flower of the entire garden. Even if that entire garden was filled with new, innocent buds seeking the sun's attention and fierce, vibrant full-bloom flowers defiantly looking to the sky. His flower outshined all of them; his flower was most deserving of that sun's brilliance.

"You really are beautiful," he claimed with such a kind tone. His flower was wilting, bending further toward the soil her roots grew from, almost able to touch the ground with her weary petals. He smiled as much as a snail could smile, and pressed further. "Even if you think the sun doesn't want to shine on you, I think the sun should only shine on you." And with more compliments that slipped from his mouth, he made his way up to the flower and made her look at him. "You really are a beauty."

The next day, the day he felt would finally change himself and the rest of his life, he crawled up to the garden. He slowly moved to the section his flower was always at, hiding away from the sun and the other gorgeous flowers. His body trembled with grief as he looked at the stem poking through the soil, the top cut cleanly. His beautiful, withering flower had been taken away, the sun no longer able to set its gaze upon her. He trembled and trembled, and wished himself to keep calm, before looking directly at the stem and saying with all the love he could muster for his flower, "You're very lucky, I'll have you know, stem. The most beautiful flower of this garden had once grown from you." And without a thought to its response, he turned away and crawled back to his home.

He had been right, that was the day that changed himself and the rest of his life. Because when he went home, the place normally empty and without a beauty to steal his gaze, he felt his flower with him. She had at least glanced at him before she left to be with the sun, and he forever had that image burned into his head. But, still, he would visit the garden everyday and watch her legacy live on, complimenting his flower as this new one grew from her stem. "My flower was beautiful," he once said to the new, innocent bud shying away from the sky, "but, as her daughter, you're very beautiful yourself."