This is a story (originally in Catalan http://neusumostaru.blogspot.com/2008/02/una-flor.html) I wrote in Mostar two years ago.
A flower.
Or maybe it wasn't even a flower, but it was something beautiful.
Its name was Suissane.
Suissane dreamed among butterflies. She did not care whether it was cold or hot, because the only thing that mattered was the sparkling sun.
Even though it might not make sense, she liked clouds as well. Suissane was one of those who think positively, those who loved them because, even though they hided her beloved sun, they gave her water. And with water, my friends, Suissane was growing up.
Growing and growing up! Up there with the wind, filling the sky with smiles.
But Suissane, like all flowers, or like all those things as beautiful as flowers, was a bit coquettish. More than liked it, sometimes she even needed the passer-byes to tell her how beautiful she was. And when this would not happen, she would get really really sad and start crying. And she would also grow up, of course, with this salty water, but by being salty, it was sometimes slightly bitter.
Then Suissane would think nobody loved her, because nobody said to her the beautiful things she expected to hear. What Suissane did not know, is that people were afraid. People were afraid of saying their thoughts to her.
Of not saying enough, or of saying it in a way that would not be good enough for her. Sometimes what would happen is that walkers so assumed she was beautiful that they thought it was not necessary to say anything to her at all... how would they dare say anything to a flower! A flower so beautiful that for sure she was tired of hearing so many flattery words.
But what people sometimes forget is that, quite often, those who seem more solid and stable, are the ones who are in most need for something to cling to.
Image: internet
