I saw a single pink flower in a deadened field today. Just passing by and seeing it through a window was enough to make me cry. Not because it was lonely, but because it reminded me of the joy of being an individual.
A sixteen year old boy with shaggy brown hair and eyes to match the beautiful blue sky above him, he stops to catch his breath and watches the back of her yellow sun dress flow like the silk wings of a butterfly as she gracefully prances through the field, begging to be followed. He rests his hands on his knees and glances at the feet that are ready to run after her then at the weeds that surround him. A pink flower catches his eye and it's elegance reminds him of her. He rubs the petals, they are soft like her skin and the thought of leaving such a beauty to wilt in this ugly world brings tears to his eyes. As he breaks the stem, his name is called. His body stimulates at the sound of her voice and he pushes his tired body through the dead brush and into the arms of his seductress he runs. Their hands lock and the flower is crushed, murdered by the touch of two lovers.
Just like the flower.. summer love will bloom, be held and then crushed.