There was a beautiful, beautiful girl. The very image of beauty! Many loved her, but did not reach for her, because she was unattainable to them.

She never did fall in love, not with the common lot. She'd received many suitors and requests for marriage and they all began to blend together after a while. She wanted something new.

She liked to walk around the homes near hers, picking weeds for the older folk and picking flowers to make crowns for the children.

A man had seen her doing this, and she had seen him too. He was handsome, very handsome, and his attire shone with wealth. She wanted to know more about him.

She greeted him simply and made small talk as they passed, but nothing more. This led men to leave letters on her doorstep, and never failed to pull them in. They wanted more than a chat, they wanted a conversation. She would tease them like that.

She waited days and days for his letter. Every time a flowery note showed up at her door she'd smile, but it would never be signed with his name.

She waited months and months, almost years for his proposal. It never came.

She set out on a journey. A silly journey. A whim.

The big mansion on the hill over the town must be where he lived.

She stepped her way up the stairs, the many, many stairs. The door that finally greeted her was many feet taller than her. She could only knock with a small hand.

The man himself answered. Oh, what delight she felt! What joy! Their long awaited reunion!

"Excuse me Miss, not to be rude, but have we met?"

She was shocked, like a harsh slice to her heart. She turned with a tear and rushed down the many, many steps.

At the bottom of the stairs laid a wide, rich patch of grasses. Beautiful flowers grew there. Beautiful flowers.

She knelt at the ground and let the tear fall. One, and another. And a few more after that.

Oh, she cried. And each tiny tear took root.

She went back to her routine life. She picked weeds for the elders and made crowns for the kids and smiled at the handsome men that passed her by. She thought, how sad, that she may have to settle for them.

Until the day like most others, when she stepped out to her front stair, and saw a much different flower than before. Small and many and blue like the tears she remembered of that day, and the small paper tied to the stem of the bouquet was lined with golden thread.

"My dear, I may have forgotten you then,

But return, and I will remember you.

Let us meet for the first time,

Once again."

She gently touched the red wax seal. This was the king's seal. She was overjoyed once again. Immediately, began making her way to the big house on the hill.

This time when she made it to the top of the many, many stairs, she was surprised to see that the king had created a garden full of the beautiful blue tear-flowers he'd sent to her. She knocked on the door with a small hand and to her delight, the king opened it once again.

They exchanged pleasantries with bright smiles and shared a dinner, before finally retreating to the garden to watch the stars.

"What are these flowers?" The girl asked. She plucked one and placed it in her hair.

"These are your flowers. You brought them to life. Don't you remember?"

She shook her head.

"When I forgot you-- I apologize, that was the worst of me-- you cried there at that patch of grass, didn't you?"

She nodded yes, remembering how sad she'd been compared to how happy she was now.

"These flowers grew where your tears fell."

"Really? Is that true?" She laughed happily.

"It is." Came the reply.

"What on earth are they called, then?"

He smiled and took her hand, placing a crown of the blue petals she didn't notice him making on her head.

"Forget-me-nots."

There once was a young man and woman who were very much in love. It had started out small, like a tiny seed, but as time moved on it grew in size and strength. For a while the couple dreamed their dreams of a life together, but one day the man was told that he had to leave to go to war.

The woman did not want him to go, and if he was honest, the man didn't want to go either, but he had to. The day of his departure got closer and closer, and soon the day was upon them. The woman whispered a teary goodbye into his ear, sobbing out 'what-ifs' and 'don't gos'. The man's response was only a kiss on the top of her head, and a request.

"All I wish is for you to not forget me."

He left not long after, going off to fight in a war he never wanted to be a part of. For months he trained and fought and suffered through what seemed like an endless agony, but he wasn't entirely miserable. Every now and then, he would see or hear something that reminded him of her, and for a moment, no matter how brief, his heart would soar.

Despite his hardships, he became friends with many of the men, but one younger man in particular he became very close to. They talked of many different subjects, but more often than not they talked of home. He told him of his home, but more importantly the woman that he loved.

One day they were supposed to head into battle. It was supposed to be easy, "an ambush" their commanders had told them. It was not. They didn't last more than an hour, and by the time the younger man found his friend, he was already half gone.

"Tell her to not forget me-not-" he stuttered out his words, but the younger man knew their meaning and he held the other man as he breathed his last breath.

The war dragged on for a year until finally, they won. Many men were going straight home to their families, but not the young man, the young man had something to do first.

As soon as he arrived back to the country, he made his way to the home of his best friend's love, only stopping to pick a handful of wildflowers from the side of the road. This was not the sort of meeting you went empty-handed to.

His heart almost stopped as he rapped on the door, and his breathing was shallow as he waited. Finally the door opened, and for a moment, the young man could see a small sparkle of excitement in her eyes, before it disappeared. She had been expecting someone else.

She let him in and offered him tea, which he refused, instead telling her his message. He watched as she broke, and despite the lapse of propriety he comforted and held her.

The flowers were forgotten until almost the very end, at which point they could barely do their job of cheering the woman up.

The man was about to leave when the woman asked him something. She asked him the last words that her love had said. He told her, and as he walked away, trying not to curl in his own shoulders in grief, he heard her whisper the words back to him.

"Forget-me-nots." But when he turned to look at her, she was staring at the flowers.