The Simple Book Of Descriptions

Feelings

I didn't really know what to call this... it's a pretty generic title... I wrote this over a series of terrible days, ending with my birthday. Not that my birthday was terrible... it was good up until a certain point... oh well, right?

Waves crashing endlessly against the shore of my mind. Relentless. Constant. Tearing the shore apart, the memories fading and crumbling away. Tears birthed from the eyes of the frail and vulnerable. Me.

Isolated by the world, kept in a cramped box of order.
"Chaos", they tell you . "That's what you are."
Nothing but society's mistake. A flaw in the system.

Living isn't just breathing.

Living is feeling. Being happy. Being normal. Having a "neurotypical" and "functional" brain. Feeling what's supposed to be felt. Being how you're supposed to be.

Sunflowers sprout from our heads. Wilted. Needing help. Water. Sunshine. Air. Tender care in order to let them grow.

Ordering the sunflowers to grow isn't going to help them.

Making them consume the countless bags of flower food that they don't think helps won't help them.

Eventually, they'll wilt without care and nourishment.

Our sunflowers won't survive the harsh storms without growing strong roots in things we love. Family, friends, hobbies. People that care, things we enjoy. People that matter.

None of us are born to wilt and die. None of us are supposed to waste away like the ones before us. We are not destined to fail. We are not destined for this tragic life of pain and sorrow.

Everyone needs to care for their sunflowers. Water them with the cool waters of our memories. Feelings mimicking the sun shining, pouring its golden beams across our minds. Relaxation and peace blowing in the wind, settling for no living thing.

Hope. Hope can't save the sunflowers. Hope can't save us. Hope never saves the sunflowers from wilting. Hope never stops people from leaving. Hope changes nothing.

Equally, distracting never helps. Reading books to a sunflower or telling it to sing won't stop it from wilting.  How are we any different? We are fragile, delicate flowers growing too close to the shore. One swift crash of the waves and we'll be wiped out. No water, we'll wilt. No sunshine or air, we'll die out.

"Letting us grow" isn't enough sometimes.

"Putting up with our cries for help" isn't helping. It's sheer ignorance to watch a sunflower wilt and complain about the fact that it's wilting without watering it or putting it out in the sun.

Maybe we all just need someone caring and gentle to set us up beside the window in a vase of water. Someone to tell us how beautiful we're becoming. How strong we are. How well we're doing. To tell us that they believe in us.

Even if we don't believe in ourselves.

This was really thrown together... I didn't really think about it much... I just wrote what I felt... anyway, enjoy I suppose!