A flower blooms oblivious to the harshness of the weather and its own beauty.
It does what it knows.
It does what it needs to survive.
It blooms while the sun is shining.
It blooms with the kisses of the rain.
It blooms bold and beautiful, unaware of its beauty becoming the bane of its existence.
And I bend down, smelling its fragrance, kissing its petals.
It looks pretty in pink, swaying gently in the wind.
I almost pluck it, but I don’t.
I don’t murder beautiful things unlike some.
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