A long time ago, a seed was planted in my garden. I'm not sure how, as it wasn't me that planted it. But I found it there, struggling to break through. I watered it. I nourished it. In the winter I kept it warm and away from the frost, and in the spring I watched it blossom into a flower. Summer followed, and what a summer it was. The flower flourished in the sun, with the flowers' blossoming a happiness began to blanket the garden, the kind of happiness that exists outside time, not trapped in a single moment. It came with a warmth that engulfed me, and for a moment I felt the warmth and happiness stretch out before me in time, as if I would never be sad again.

But as the days began to grow shorter and colder, the flower began to wilt and die, and as it faded it took that future, that constant happiness with it.
The following winter was colder than any other. The rain seemed endless. It would rain for days without a break, but the rain did not settle. It did not flood. I don't know how, it was as if it just drained away, like something was consuming it all. Something about the rain made me uneasy. Normally, I found winter rain to be relaxing, a kind of melancholic comfort. But this rain was different. It was unsettling. Unreal.

When the spring came the flower did not blossom. I went down to the garden where I had first found the seed, but the flower was not there. I searched all through my garden, but it was gone. By the time the following winter rolled around I had all but forgotten the flower. I had forgotten the hours spent talking to it in the summer. I had forgotten the care I took for it the first winter, or the affection I felt for it when I first saw it blossom in the spring. I forgot what it felt like, what it looked like. I forgot it's scars and it's stories. I even forgot it's name.

I often wonder how the flower came to be in my garden. Did it seek me out, knowing it needed help to grow strong enough to leave? Did it just use me to get away? Was the happiness it brought me real? or only the rain?

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