30.March.26

Would a bloom trade its petals plucked for pages turned to tucked—forego the metage of saturated soil that nourishes its sun-seeking soul for a paving rather than a planted role—wither itself to the brink of death for a chance to partake in a story that rhythms each living breath—prefer to grow in a sense outside of its stem even if it were to no longer be a gem to them? ; )