Withered flower
When you pluck a flower from the ground she dies.
Even if you take the flower and give her a nice vase with direct sunlight and water to drink she will still die, the only difference is she will die with her roots on full display, her ugly parts meant to stay covered in dirt ripped from the ground — sometimes beautiful things are just meant to be admired, to be watered and cared for in the garden.
When you see beautiful thing and take it for yourself it may stay beautiful for a while but it will eventually die. She liked the attention at first, too blinded to see he was depleting her of all sustenance, if only she wasn’t so far away from home the others could’ve warned her but they just watched her decay through the open window.
When will he learn to appreciate flowers for all their beauty? Leaving them to flourish in the garden without ripping her from the soil using her for himself, appearing to care for her as she slowly dies just to throw her out when the petals have all dried — petals that wither only because of him.
So she was thrown out; a stem, a few petals, and a seed. As spring approached, she began to grow back, but the next time a man came, she wilted in fear, he didn’t pull her wounded roots, rather lay down next to her in the soil. He began to become one with the ground, he was wrapped up in her leaves and they grew old tangled together. He died with petals growing out of his mouth.
When you pluck a flower from the ground she dies.
