When Spring Comes

By: Kwankhao Ruanruly

When spring comes, flowers will blossom. Love too.

Eversince and even now the world seems dark and grey to me. I have always felt like I was a lone bee in a garden full of dead grass and tumbleweeds.

As each day passed by, I felt as if I am being pulled forcefully into an abyss of endless despair like an insect flying straight into a Venus flytrap. I can say the same thing of love, and yet people continue to plunge themselves willingly into it like they have lost their minds.

So when they said that when people starts to fall in love, all they see are bright coloredflowers. I shook my head in disagreement.

I hate spring.

And I hate all kinds of bright-colored flowers.

You see I am allergic to pollens.

I get teary-eyed

My nose gets runny I sneeze like there’s no tomorrow When I’m exposed to pollens.

That’s why I hate spring. And I hate all kinds of bright-colored flowers. All these flowers in bloom, The happy buzzing bees on them. The neigbhorhood kids talking excitedly about an outdoor scavenger hunt.

The teenage girls in their bikinis with their boyfriends sunbathing by the beach.

My noisy family planning a camping trip. I hate the noise and the excitement that with spring.

But not as much as all those bright-coloredflowers.

Such flowers were seen by me through the café’s glass window as I sipped my already cold coffee, left untouched as I sat there for almost an hour. My family is so excited for the upcoming spring activities and they spent all day discussing plans that I just had to get away from it all. Winter’s better. We stay inside, drink hot chocolate by the fire. The freezing weather giving me an excuse to stay curled up in my bed. Away from the crowd and the bright-colored flowers of the spring. So instead here I am in my favorite café’s most secluded spot. No one will disturb me here! Peace at last! The spot though secluded allowed me a good view of the street. The passing crowd; lovers holding hands, teenage girls giggling, an old man walking his excitable Labrador was a sight for sore eyes and made me forget my irritation. The glass door buzzed. I tore my eyes from the view across the street and took out my book. The words from Lang Leav’s poems tore into my heart and I wonder what kind of experiences must she have had to be able to write such powerful sad prose. I tried feeling the words of her poetry. A habit I like to do when I’m alone. Strange I know.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

The male voice broke my thoughts. I am really annoyed now and was about to give an irate response. However the smile on the man’s face stopped me. His is a kind face. Young but grown up. His eyes; are playful and expressive.

“No, it’s not.”

I answered weakly before returning my attention to my book.

He sat opposite me not bothered by my coldness. I gave him a glance. His smile still on his face. And I wonder why I saw brightcolored flowers.

The End