"Do you remember the smell of the sweet watermelon on a
summer day? Do you remember the tingle it runs through you
body, the craving for that first sweet bite into the red
flesh of the fruit? The pure juice that runs down your
throat and revives your body cooling it from the furnace
heat outside. That is what I am right now. I am a sweet
furnace waiting to be cooled. Dear, could you be my
watermelon?" Daisy seemed sure of herself. She meant what
she said; only I did not quite get her. Watermelons are all
nice and tasty but it still failed to explain her latest
actions. "You can't possibly forget the watermelons? We
used to sit there, don't you remember, to sit and eat the
together, you used to cut the pieces from the big fruit and
hand them over to me saying I am worthy only of the finest
fruit."
She kept talking, reminding me of good and bad happy and
sad. Yet it was all over long ago. It was good while it
lasted. Most of it was at least. "Don't you remember me?
Daisy! You once proclaimed your undying love for me, swore
on all you hold sacred that it will last. So make it last, I
dare you!".
Dear Daisy, once. Once is the key. You are sweet and
naïve my dear beloved. Not all I hold it should be but
all I held. Do you love I wonder? What will this show give
you? Me? No. You know me not. You come running half way
across the globe for watermelons only to find out they have
been tossed from the fifth floor to the harsh pavement
below. "At least you remember. Promises have to be kept.
Your words belong to you. Take me, I don't even care there
will be no more watermelons. My red blood should be enough.
You king of fools. How can your believes be so damaged? Not
that long ago you still said you want your daisy by you to
water every day and take care. Where is that dream? Here is
the flower."
Sweet child, she doesn't see the harsh truth. Daisies do not
grow in the cold, the dark and icy weather does not fit
their temper. Nor do they grow in the heat, there only the
graceless cacti find their dwell. Oh Daisy, Daisy, you are
lovely, not to deny, but I am a rock in the land of tender
when you try to lure me to your lair. Look at that beauty;
she sits there filled with sorrow, drowning in her tears,
weeping for salvation. I am not her knight. The armor clad
was lost in battle long ago, the magi might be of help yet
they are far away and she, in need. I step outside; turn off
the lights, her way is clear and so is mine. I am obliged to
follow my desires, watermelons must lie in the past, my one
way road to life and then to death.