All the plants die in your care.
You don’t know how to look after them
Because no one ever showed you
What beauty is, or how to protect it.
You spend your life chasing it,
Hurtling around like a maniac,
Seeking your short, selfish satisfactions that wear off by morning,
Leaving loveliness neglected.
You could’ve watered the flowers in your own garden – those poor thirsty flowers,
You could’ve tended to them patiently through the seasons,
And let their blossoming save your soul.
But you didn’t know how.
And now they’re not the only ones who’re dead.
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