A flower may grow in the strangest of places.
So long as its basic needs are met.
But if you take them away, it will wilt.
Watch as the petals fall.

To the beat of the wind.

This is ok.

Let it go.

Watch as the flower decays.
Seed pods dehisce.
Stems weaken.
The body begins to curl.

All energy now put into reproduction.
But there isn’t enough.
One last painful sting.
A final reminder.

Out there is void;
Nothing has your back.

Please.
Please.

I may wilt, but let them grow.
I will give everything I have to shift the odds in their favour.
Let them grow strong.
Then I can die happy.

A final cloud of potential young escape the flower.
Immediately taken by ancient wind to circulate the Earth.

Those spawned of this cloud, never died.
Hidden in our daily lives, by our daily minds,
Are the voices of these ancients,
Guiding us toward love and connection.

But hey, don’t like, miss your bus; you’ll be late.