I was writing a song for the flowers
withering on top of the computer table
but like all things in nature,
the petals changed
into something grey and pure.
They die beautifully,
unlike us.
When we wither,
we do not fold into ourselves;
we do not look up to the sky,
but only avoid the light,
fold within our comforts
to hide and embrace the dark.
And so when love withers,
we let it die.
We are just human
after all.
