It is never just a flower.
It is a gesture.
A reason to smile that you give her when you can’t be near.
It isn’t just a flower, never was, never will be.
She sees this fine line of frailty and strength.
They can withstand a rainstorm yet can be plucked so easily from the ground they secure themselves within.
Petals easily punctured.
Dew falling from the leaves just as tears.
Do they know their beauty and their inner strength?
So many wilt, so many die.
Becoming petals pressed between book pages.
Only remembered for the sake of reminiscing.
Will she become a bookmark or a flower nourished to become alive?
Flowers only bloom when the conditions are just right.
September 10, 2019