To feel disconnected; a petal in mid-fall past it's stem. It lays on the ground once walked all over, its footprints swiftly blown away by the wind. The rain trickles down, washes over the phantom mounds, and hopes for at least one destination that hasn't already been found. The thunder cracks, the lightning strikes, and the trees tremble at the sounds. They don't even remember how terrifying it felt to be sun dried, decaying beneath the rays of hot wrath. But the next day, a rainbow appears and a new hope arises when the sky turns baby blue. Excited new flowers bloom, but a few weeks later, the petals of those begin to wilt too.