The daisy game

A little girl sits in a field of daisies, her nearly white blonde hair is wisped by the wind, on her skirt lie half a dozen daisies, all with their petals ripped off.
“little girl, why are you crying?” her tears leave large dark drop marks on her skirt. She raises her eyes; so blue they match the sky, “They all say the same thing.” And she weeps.
“For whom are you tearing the petals from these daisies?” “For my Daddy, I want to know, but they all say he doesn’t!” I hold back a smile, “Oh little girl, why don’t you ask your Daddy himself if he loves you? What do these simple flowers know of love?”
A glimmer of hope flickers in the small child’s eyes, but quickly dies “I can’t, you see, I don’t know my Daddy, I’ve never seen him.”
Holding back tears, I have nothing to say, I wonder what will become of this little one and I wish I could make it all turn out right.
Two youths sit in a field of daisies, the boy places a flower in the girls hand and smiles, the girl gazes at the daisy, its reflection dancing in her clear blue eyes. She looks up at the boy and smiles in return, then one by one she begins to tear each petal off the flower until she reaches the last petal.
Both youths faces fall, “Forget it.” The boy says. He snatches the petal from her hand and throws it away, he gives her a new one and she sets to ripping it apart as well. “Forget it.” The boy says again and throws the flower down. “They all say the same thing.” The girl whispers as she blinks back a tear.
She reaches for another, “Forget it!” says the boy and he grabs her hand, “No daisy is gonna make up my mind for me, I already know, and I’ll prove it to you.” The two draw close to one another.
A lone young woman sits in the middle of a field of daisies. She raises her head to the sky, “Why?” She looks down at her lap, covered in the destroyed flowers.
“Child, why do you cry?” She lifts a damaged flower between her slender fingers, “They all say the same thing!” “For whom do you now tear petals off of flowers?” “For someone; for anyone, anyone at all!” She hardens her face and wipes away her tears, “I’m finished.” She says, and rises to her feet.
“Wait.” She stops and turns, listening, will I tell her anything she hasn’t heard before? “I know it looks like no one loves you, and like these flowers were your only hope and they all turned up false and empty, your father whom you never met, all the youths who have used and abused and then left you, and now, now you feel there is no one…”
I falter, as I look at this girl, her blue eyes now dull without life in them, her once lively features now sharp and hardened, she’s seen it all, she’s heard it all. She doesn’t hope anymore, she simply waits and takes whatever life throws her way.
I begin again, “There was a flower once in this field, it was planted by someone very good and kind. He planted it and watched it grow, and was so excited for it, but when it grew it looked at itself and wondered if it was good enough. He told it that he loved it and that it was good enough for him. But it wanted to know if anyone else would love it. It turned and asked everyone around it, they all said yes, of course they loved it. But one day one of them became angry and took a petal off the flower, then left. After that the flower became a target and everyone around it left it one by one taking a piece of it with them, until the flower had but one petal left. Then the one who planted it came to it and said “I told you I loved you, all these others don’t really even matter, I’m the one who planted you. My opinion is the only one that matters and I love you still.” The flower looked at herself and cried “but look at me, how can you love me know, I’m a damaged flower, I’ve lost so much!” “Ah” said the planter, “But I can put the petals back on you that the world has torn off.”
“Child, the flower is you, you tried so hard to earn love from others by doing anything and everything you knew how to do, but it didn’t work, it only tore you to pieces. Well I want to introduce you to the one that can put you back together again, the one that can make you whole. He is in the business of restoring petals to the flowers that have lost theirs. “
She kneels on the ground and fingers a daisy thoughtfully, now she looks up, hopeful once again “Show me this man.”