I don’t know when my petals died.

I don’t know when the flower that is my soul stopped blooming in the morning when the sun shined in through my bedroom window.

I don’t know when the leaves that are my consciousness became wilted and flew off from my being.

I don’t know when the roots that are my spirituality gave up on hope and light and thus became broke and weak and incapable of support.

I don’t know why the sun still shines, and the birds still sing, and the bees still buzz and I don’t know why flowers die.

The world would be an ugly place without flowers