The Tulip

Tall, sturdy cacti have always lured me in. Their rough edges are the complete opposite of my soft petals. As their thorns graze into my opening a sensation overcomes me. But sometimes they're too rough, and I end up getting wounded. A petal can only take so much abuse before moving on, needing time to repair itself.
Every cacti starts out the same, gently pushing farther and farther, testing to see how much I can take.
This last time, however, was too much.
Earlier today I found myself among other tulips, just basking in the beautiful sun. Tulips day out, no cacti allowed. For the first time I really appreciated their beauty (which I find odd, since I am one myself.) I watched with intrigue as the wind ruffled their petals, blowing their scent towards me. One of my leaves brushed up against a petal, and suddenly I began to yearn for the touch of a fellow tulip.
Eventually all of my leaves were reaching toward my petals, nurturing them as they quivered with delight. My opening released some seeds as another gust of wind blew through. At that same moment I saw the tulip next to me smile.
Perhaps my heart will someday seek comfort in the hands of yet another cactus, but for now, I'd rather have a tulip.