Falling Flowers


When the flowers fall, the seasons change.


When the flowers fall, it brings a sort of beauty. It brings the beauty of nature, the beauty where things change as time passes. It seems to be beautiful. Then, I realise that I am celebrating the beauty of the slow death of nature. The nature comes and goes as she wishes, not leaving any traces or leaving traces of her as she wishes. I hold the flowers in my hands, appreciating their beauty which will be gone in a few days time when they start to dry out and die away. I look at nature, seeing how life passes me by. I was hoping that things would be better some days, but just like the flowers, they fall and they die away. 

How nice would it be if my emotions are like these flowers. As they fall, they die out. How wonderful would it be if my love can be like flowers, falling away and slowly disappear as they die out. How marvellous would it be if my sadness are like flowers, falling away and dying out as time passes and not devour me from inside. How perfect would it be if my depression are like flowers, fading away without a trace as time passes. I look at the flowers in my hands, wondering once again how nice it would be if I could throw away my emotions and pretend nothing has ever happened because people seem to move on so easy while I would always find it hard to even let go of the slightest bit of memory in me. I look at the flowers in my hands and wish, profusely, that my memories would fade away as long as my tears have washed them.

Falling flowers, they would grow again next season, once again bringing out the beauty of nature and the beauty of the tree. This time, with more maturity and more strength. Yes, honey, isn’t this life? The falling flowers are the things that have hurt me and I throw them away, wishing that they would never come back to me again, just to realise that they will always be there, like how the flowers would always grow back next season. The presence of my emotions, my depressions, they are a constant reminder to me of who I was and what I used to be, they are a constant reminder to me of who I really am, why do I grow up the way I did. They remind me of all the lessons that I have learnt and that I should continue growing because next season, I would be beautiful once again, with the newly born flowers.

Falling flowers, how beautiful are your sadness and how beautiful are your perfection.


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