"In spring flowers start brightly blooming aside the road I had to cycle, going to the grocery's. It's the main road between my home town and Amersfoort and they were surrounded by many of the same, and different, species. One even more colourful than the other, all watching cars and bicycles pass as they gently danced with the wind. When you listen carefully you can hear them whisper. Some telling their stories, others ranting about how loud we are, as human beings. One flower, whatsoever, whispered quieter than all the others. He wanted to be plucked, but only by someone who cared enough to listen. To listen to every single one of them. To listen to what they were telling, asking for or ranting about. To even listen to the quietest of them all. As I came closer, the flower started to whisper louder. It was a rather small one, but very beautiful. It had long and thin petals, one coloured blue, the next one coloured red, the following yellow and the fourth petal was coloured bright pink. However, this wasn't all yet. Every single petal had a different, even brighter colour and the core of the flower was white. Pure white, and so were the filaments hanging out of the flower. I sat down, in front of the flower, and asked him how he liked living along this road. I asked him how he liked the other flowers and how he spent his days, awaiting his rather slow, but intriguing answers. I sat there until the starting sun set made both of us, and remarkably all of the other flowers, quiet down and we watched the sun going further and further down, until the sun had completely disappeared and the flowers had wished each other a good night. I saw all of them closing their petals, except for my quiet, small flower, and asked him what was wrong. He told me he didn't sleep at night and as he said that, his core and filaments lightened up to a point you would swear they were actually turning into a little light bulb, which was, when I blinked my eyes a few times, what was happening. In fact, its core had already been a light bulb all the time, now spreading actual light trough the filaments and petals. He said I had to look up, which made me see stars, giving light the same way as he did. Then he told me to look around, to look further, because I did not see, according to his opinion, beyond the end of my nose. I did as he said and turned my head a quarter to the left, followed by a gaze to the right. In this field filled with sleeping flowers and fresh grass had now arisen tiny, light-giving, white, night-flowers. All competing with the stars, who could shine brighter. He said they would all be gone by dawn again and so did I, because as soon as the sun started to rise, I realised I had totally forgotten about my spaghetti which I had cooking on my stove."