She’s the kind of girl that gathers withered wildflowers, and sticks them in her hair even though their beauty has gone. There is a broken beauty is something such as flowers without life. Their crumpled petals and weak stems remind her of herself, and almost like looking in a shattered mirror the reflection seen is all too familiar. Is it wrong to collect the things that remind us so much of ourselves? Hoarding a hope in the library of her mind she wishes for days when the rain would cease to fall over her life and sunshine could bring back a heartbeat in her chest. The sunlight could too give life to dead flowers and make them bloom once more. But it would take a miracle to bring back happiness into a darkened soul and piece together a broken jar of broken wishes. So she collects the flowers and hold them close like a bouquet of dreams. There is beauty in the lost and forgotten that cannot be known unless seen with empty eyes. She’s a realist and a dreamer but knows more about pain and hurt than she would have bargained for. So sniff the wildflowers and appreciate a magnificence made only by loss, not gain.