I picked a daisy... It had always been your favorite flower. I hadn't understood why until now.
The starkness of the white from the yellow, both colors representing a child, innocence and excitement. You had always longed to be that child...
I would sit out here in the sun for hours, creating daisy chains with you, back when you still believed in fairies and dreams...
You repainted your walls when she left. The yellow walls bled, until no yellow could be seen... You never come out of that room.
When she left you dyed all your clothes black. "White and yellow, the color of childhood; black and red, the color of adulthood," you explained to me. I can still feel the sting of your words...
Wasps are yellow. Yellow and black, a mix of who you were and who you are... Maybe that's why the sting hurts so much... A wasp sting is always the most painful, especially when they sting you in the heart.
I look down and see the torn up daisy in the palm of my hand. My fingertips are stained yellow.
You gently placed a crown of daisies on my head and bowed down to me. I didn't take that crown off for days. We kept adding to it, more daisies, a necklace to join. Eventually you told me that I needed to press them if I wanted them to last. So we put them between two books and in a couple of weeks, you brought them out and showed me them...
"Now they'll last forever," you said.
When they lowered you into the earth, I threw these down with you. Your favorite flowers to never leave your side; immortal like you had wanted to be.
But you were never immortal... When you died and the wasp, once my father, stung my heart, I vowed I would never love yellow again...
I refused to eat honey, butter, squash, anything yellow. Refused to look at any yellow flowers, touch a yellow book, play with yellow toys... I missed you more than you could imagine. I still do.
But he loved the yellow drinks, whiskey and spirits. They gave him relief - numbed the pain to the type of pain a child feels, material pain.
But nothing gold, nothing yellow can stay... And eventually he cut open your wrists, trying to find the yellow, but only seeing the red blood...
And now it's my time to try to find the yellow of childhood innocence. And if I don't find it, at least I will end this pain...
So I stood up, dusted off my hands, dropped the daisy and jumped, continuing your quest, seeking yellow...
