roots buried deep in the soil,
twisting, clinging,
but always searching
for something just beyond reach,
as if to say,
"i belong, but never fully."
the stem stands tall,
fragile beneath its weight,
a spine bent by the wind,
swaying but never breaking,
holding the promise of growth
that feels too far to touch.
leaves unfurl in silence,
drinking the light,
but never truly satisfied,
reaching for something warmer,
something richer —
but always feeling the cold beneath.
a flower blooms,
beautiful for a moment,
and then fades
petals falling like whispered secrets,
crumbling into dust,
as though beauty was never meant to stay.
fruit hangs heavy with promise,
but when touched,
it rots —
sweetness turning bitter,
a taste of desire gone sour,
left to fall unpicked,
forgotten in the earth.
and yet,
the cycle repeats—
new roots,
new stems,
new leaves,
all reaching for the same sun,
knowing it will never shine long enough.