I had no green thumb, no way with plants, so when I looked at the gardens of my friends, I was sad. I sat inside and played alone, while everyone else went outside to romp around in the flowers.
Those who passed by my house would not look twice, as even the grass on my lawn looked sickly and tired.
Then one day I drew a flower on paper, and it looked so lovely that I finally understood the love everyone had.
I drew gardens, I drew lawns, I drew towers bursting with flowers.
Yet my outside was still bare.
One day I brought some clay, and I started to play. I crafted a stem, attached a leaf, and molded some petals. I took a marker and colored it in, the petals a vibrant red and its stem a fiery green.
I spent my days like that, until clay flowers filled my room. I took them outside, armloads at a time, and laid them on the ground.
To this day, I do not know if something interceded, or if, just for a moment, all the rules of the universe changed. As I turned around to re-enter my home, a gust of wind so strong that it toppled me over blew past. And out of the corner of my eye, to my surprise, I found a garden of real flowers in my yard.