pen, paper, and coffee

f l o w e r

she is in a garden brimful of blooms,
radiating the brightest of colors
one glance at the flower,
and she's already picking it up
for it is so beautifully made
as if crafted by the God Himself
she sprinkles an ounce of water
fearing that it might wither and die
she tucks it behind her ears,
and dances with it all day long
hours have passed,
it's already dusk
the flower has lain on her desk
together with her books
the next day she woke up
only to find out that the flower
has eventually lost its life
she throws it out
like it's nothing to her
because she has somehow realized,
that it's not the only flower in the garden.

-c.d.c.