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"To me, my Lime, you're a flower."
A flower who grew even when the world let not.
Blossomed, despite the harshness you have been shown. Rooted in a ground of cruelty, you sprouted into beauty. And that, my love, means you're
"Extraordinary."
Though, a flower who had to adapt to harshness to grow, means they will begin to wilt at the touch of a gentle hand. Not for being harmed, but for the consequence after love.
"My love, I want to prove that my hand will hold yours without taking."
Because to take means to taint.
And my tainted form, I know for a fact, will not make you wilt. I will not allow such.
"How can a flower thrive without its roots ? I understand your walls."
I will not take back what I have lost through you.
For selfishness is not in the blood I bleed.
The selfishness I bleed for is not my own.
"My Lime, I beg."
They beg,
"Will you look me in my eyes ?"
And see me as more than what you can take ?
"And know that I will only give ?"
I was a flower too, once.
Blue sat on a bed made not for them, staring down at the sterile white floors. They were a flower once, beautiful as can be. And of course, people would correct them on their usage of past tense. Take their red pens and circle their words as if it were their own and not Blue's -- because nothing is Blue's anymore. And because of course they'd assume they know everything about them. They couldn't care less to look inside after all.
And while it saddened them, maybe it was for the better. For their flora no longer flourishes, stands tall, nor is it bright. Its lost its color, its petals, and its worth. For the more tainted one is, the less its worth, no ? Because that logic must work for Blue, Blue does not feel. Nor do they think. Nor do they like. Nor dislike. Blue gives. Labor, inspiration, hunger. They stand like a muse because it doesn't matter where people stare if they were made to be stared at.
Blue was a flower once, but they're nothing more than a stem. They lack their petals, they lack their roots, they lack everything, because people took. They took, they took, and they took. And if Blue bled, so be it. Because it doesn't matter how much blood one loses if they were made to bleed. What they've given up and will continue to give up will strip them clean of their autonomy and dignity, but such things were privilege for someone like them. Does it matter, really ?
Blue was young, once. Counting the stems of dandelions that had been dropped once they've been used. You'd think something so giving, promising, the idea of spreading your desires and wishes through the air for you would bring compassion out of someone. But, of course not. A naive way to look at the world, that is. Being useful means your worth isn't where you start, but where you end. And when you're no longer useful, you're a stem tossed on the sidewalk, stepped on by those who pass by. Nobody will stop to pick you up, because nobody pays any mind to stems.
That's why Blue is thankful in a way. Nobody can look past their pretty face. Like those Lanternflies, the ones you kill for sport. Because they're invasive. But before you see invasive, you see beauty. Beauty in their wings before someone informs you on what they truly are. Nobody knows who they are, nobody will care to see who they truly are. Blue stays silent, Blue bleeds, for that is their safety. As long as people can see what they can take and not for whom they take from, they can live in peace.
Except they don't. All they can see is what others don't, what they won't let them see. That's what they expected. They've had to see for themselves what they truly were before pushing it as far back as they could. What would they think ? What would the Skeld think ? They've been reduced to rot, a rot that was polished and refurbished until unrecognizable and put up on a pedestal for all to see. To be left there until their rot seeps through once more, and only then will they finally be discarded. Blue has only been delaying the inevitable.
Blue was a flower once, but they were picked.
To pick a flower is to sever off the stem, to remove their autonomy and to ensure they will never grow again. Roots do not grow back, and now all they can do is rot. The only thing that can grow again, is their rot. To pick a flower is to accept that once you've removed their autonomy you will remove their beauty as well, the very thing that drove you to picking them. To pick is to keep, but of course you won't do that. You tore them off their roots because you wanted a closer look, a closer touch, and you couldn't bare the idea of them rotting in your arms.
You couldn't bare the idea of looking past what you could admire.
Nobody could.
And for that, Blue will bleed. Because they will give and people will take, and selfishness is not in their blood. And if people took, maybe they would stay ? And they would be admired. And they would be loved. Even if the surface level of it all was agonizing. Even if that longing for something deep, personal, and loving will never be fulfilled. Because they were not made for such. They are a muse, something to be incased in paint and hung in golden frames. Their real self will be forgotten, what they were used for will shine in their unknown name.
They were told from the start, that this is how it will be. Whether from the stems they've walked past or the gazes they were given to bask in, they knew. And they knew that all they should've shown back was appreciation. For everyone loved Blue. They loved their petals, so gorgeous they had to keep one for their own. Blue was gifted, anyways. They had enough of their own. They had to share with the less fortunate.
And so what if they didn't give back ?
And so what if Blue was left dull and rotten ?
What mattered is that everyone could take, and they could give.
And they must let it stay that way, and they must remain useful.
Lime never took. They'd rather spit in Blue's face than take. They probably already have. And because of that, Blue committed their first atrocity.
Selfishness.
Bias.
Blue grew biased. Lime was not like the others. Lime didn't take, Lime didn't grab, nor touch. They rarely even stared. Blue's first atrocity was to bleed selfish blood to drip onto Lime's petals, full and alive. Lime made Blue feel alive. They were divine, they had to bleed until there was but a drop left so Lime could shine. And this was selfish, because then if Blue had no blood left, how could they give ?
"I wish you saw yourself the way I see you."
Lime was a flower. Blue was not. Blue could not bloom, but they could bleed. And bleed they will, for Lime will grow. Their roots will flourish off of Blue's blood, more than anyone else has before. Lime deserved more. Blue was not supposed to think like that. Everyone was supposed to be equally above them. There was no hierarchy that was supposed to be in their head, only those who were above Blue.
Lime wouldn't be picked, because nobody looked at them. And Blue would make sure it would stay as such. Blue would cherish and protect them, they knew they needed it. Blue felt nothing but adoration for them. And for once, they could feel for themselves with confidence.
They loved Lime.
And Lime could never do the same.
Because Lime grew under the harshest conditions, and Blue was anything but. Their distrust hurt, but they had experienced hell far worse Blue could begin to imagine. Blue was not allowed to think about their own suffering when it came to Lime. Once Lime came to them, in the middle of the night, for Blue's eyes only. Lime never stepped forwards, only back. And Blue was patient. Blue let them in, and even if after they settle down they will leave once more, they didn't mind. As long as they could still show what they were worth.
"Yous a hypocrite."
Lime spat the words out with their chest. Blue sat in their office, their computer screen being the only source of light they've gotten in days. Blue paused in their work, spinning around in their chair with an almost amused expression, "Hypocrite, you say ?"
"I do say !" Lime exclaimed, "Always getting on me for my health and all that malarkey, what about yours !? Yous the doc' here, ain'tcha !?"
And Lime was right, they were hypocritical. Going against their very own values for the sake of hard work -- even if it was for the greater good. Of course it'd make any outsider perplexed, especially them. Lime saw everything, with their squinted judgement. Especially through Blue's bullshit.
"And I apologize, but I must make some sacrifices in order to ensure all of our safety."
Lime bristled even more at that, grabbing them by their shoulders and shaking them back and forth, rattling Lime's words in their head in order to get them to stick better -- however that works. They scolded, Blue was flawed in that moment. It made them sick -- but only for a moment. Because what came next wasn't consequence.
But concern.
Lime was concerned.
And Blue never liked worrying others, but maybe they were so deprived of care, that all they could do was latch on and cling with all their might. So maybe they led Lime into a back - and - forth. As sorry as they felt, they were thrilled. For as much as they bled, someone could take their wrist and patch them up.
But when their wound is closed, it will scar.
Blue was conflicted, Lime was all they've ever wanted. But to give into desire means giving everything they've built up, and they could never do such a thing. But they just couldn't give Lime up. Lime was a flower, and only they knew how to hold them delicately, because only they knew how it felt to be picked. But that was a selfish way of thinking. Lime brought out the selfish desires Blue kept buried down along with their stem and rot.
That scared them.
If Lime saw Blue for how they truly were, they would certainly leave. Blue wasn't a flower like they had promised. They were ugly, rotten, tainted. Their petals had wilted, and they've left ash in their wake.
Blue was far from gorgeous.
And Lime was closest to finding out.
But no matter what Blue did, they just couldn't stop themselves from clinging on.
Lime sees Blue, for who they truly are.
Lime sees Blue, and soon it will prove itself when they leave. When they clench their fists and scrunch up their face, ask them with their tone laced with disgust,
"What's wrong with ya ?"
And Blue won't have anything to say.
For this body is not their own,
What it is, is what it can bleed.
Lime will turn their back, and everyone else will realize Blue had bled all for Lime.
And so they will turn their backs too.
Blue is not a flower, they are rot.
And that they will continue to be.
Blue sat up from their bed, wiping their face clean and brushing off their coat. Steady their breathing, they must. They have things to do.