mes fleurs poussent lentement,
j'aime bien les tournesols,
les fleurs sauvages.
mon cœur leur donne beaucoup de soleil,
j'ai bâti une serre pour les protéger,
une charrette pour mieux les distribuer.
à ceux à qui le sourire manque,
à ceux de qui l'amour se cache,
à ceux qui vivent constamment en hiver.
mais je n'ai pas encore assez d'expérience avec ma douceur.
elle est toute fraîche,
les bourgeons à peine éclos.
je n'ai pas encore appris à la faire grandir avec force,
sans avoir peur.
pour simplement distribuer mes fleurs,
même si personne ne les veut,
ou si on me dévisage du regard.
parfois, les grands méchants loups
ou les grands-mères désillusionnées
font trembler ma joie.
leur pluie est encore trop forte.
alors je me plie comme une fleur sous la tempête.
bientôt, je serai capable de donner mes fleurs à tout le monde.
même à ceux pour qui la tempête semble trop forte, trop longue.
ceux qui ont perdu la force de croire que le printemps revient,
que les fleurs poussent à chaque année
et que le soleil fait fondre les glaces érigées autour de chaque cœur.
il y a toujours un moyen de faire revenir le soleil.
lui aussi se cache parfois derrière de gros airs menaçants.
it doesn’t matter where you are or where you’re going;
you lip-sync to your Spotify playlist,
without caring if someone sees you or not.
i love how you have two very opposite reactions to a play or a new movie at the cinema.
you stay silent, like you’re replaying the whole thing in your head, figuring out the bits you’ve missed or the ones you’ve giggled over.
you can’t fool me; I can still see the sparkles in your eyes and your rosy cheeks.
you can’t shut up.
the words, little rivers, stream out of your mouth, the ideas flowing through to my ears.
it’s like your big, sensitive heart jumped around too much and it is finally ready to conquer the whole world in a night.
i love how you always share your conquests with me.
i love how you always make yourself a cup of tea but always forget to drink it at the right time. you set it aside so it won’t be too hot, but it ends up laying cold overnight.
i love the face you make when you rediscover the mug the next morning.
you can watch movies two, three, fifty times without getting bored with the plot.
you read the same book every summer because they feel like coming home.
maybe if I found a way to be your favorite story, you would never get tired of cracking my spine and read me every winter when you get cold.
i love how you always skip the sad parts of a movie you’ve already seen,
as if the sadness can’t happen more than once.
i love how you remember lines from movies so easily,
and you always find a way to make people laugh with your impressions.
i love how much it makes your mom laugh when she recognizes where they’re from.
i love how you learn song lyrics so quickly and how eager you are to jam with me in the car.
just like a photographer, images stay imprinted in your head and everything reminds you of certain movie scenes.
you always remember things by seeing the picture in your head.
i love how loyal you are to your people.
it doesn’t matter if it’s a friend or a fictional character, you always stand up for the ones you love. like a little wolf mama, or a papa bear.
i love how you don’t mind having childish tastes.
mushrooms are off the table,
animals and flowers are always appreciated,
and sweets are never refused.
i love how you want to cuddle with certain people,
but everyone else has to respect a big bubble rule.
no in between.
i love seeing your brain overwork.
no, of course I don’t enjoy seeing you overthink and suffer from the problems you created yourself.
what I mean is that I enjoy following the thought paths your mind builds for us to walk on.
your imagination leads us to enchanted worlds, to mystery-solving adventures, to romantic dates.
i love how serious you get about your favorite shows or characters.
to you, they are real and they describe a specific time of your life, or a specific you you’d like to be, or a certain type of person that is attractive to you.
i love analyzing our personalities based on tv characters.
i think it’s funny when your ears catch a different accent,
the pitch of someone’s voice,
or when your face absentmindedly tries to imitate facial expressions.
hearing you find your voice amuses me.
i love seeing your eyes when you’ve found a spark of inspiration.
i swear, I can pinpoint the moment the words flash in your head, because you have to leave everything you’re doing to write it down.
sometimes, I can hear you repeat a sentence over and over again so you won’t forget it until you can put it on paper.
i love how writing is a magical thing to you.
you can’t explain where it originates from,
you hardly control it,
and you certainly don’t always understand its power on your surroundings.
you are made of details and no one is like you.
you were created unique,
amongst the mountains,
and the wild life.
somehow, you are amazing enough that you have a place in this astonishing world.
you are as important as the stars above,
as the water you drink,
or as the love you give.
you can stand tall and proud alongside the masterpieces nature has to offer.
you are as touching as a Van Gogh,
as complicated as a Picasso,
or as pretty as the Greek statues.
you, the tiny you, have something to give to this earth.
maybe it will only be love and kindness, but it’s a precious and rare enough thing.
the world needs it more than ever.
little human, please never forget that you belong,
and that it is your duty to make others feel like they do too.
the flowers you are growing in your chest, in your head,
please hand them out generously to those who need them.
not because you want something in return,
just because giving makes your flowers grow even prettier.
everyone is in need of a little love,
a little help,
and a little kindness.
you are uniquely breathtaking,
just like everyone else.
J'écris pour calmer les tempêtes dans ma tête et pour faire le ménage dans les mots qui s'y entrechoquent.