Years ago, I used sunflower as a password.
I never told anyone what it meant. The funny thing is, I didn’t really know myself.
It wasn’t a person, a place, or some secret story. I simply loved Van Gogh. I still think he may be the greatest painter who ever lived.
At the time, painting was somewhere inside me, but it hadn’t found its way out yet.
Years later, it did.
These sunflowers came from looking at his — and then going somewhere else entirely. Mine turned dark.
Perhaps some words know things about us before we do.