There is always this flower,
Ever so beautiful, Ever so lovely.
A flower that grows just right for my soul;
But a flower in someone else's garden.

I'd water her,
Each time I passed her by.
She grows no thorns to my skin,
Delicate to her very core.

But as she is beautiful,
Often attract other passersby.
They too would try to nurture her;
And often too she would fall for them.

How could I even save a flower;
That was never mine in the first place?

-HIY

He never knew how
her whole heart
was his from the
start.

-HIY

Her eyes speak of
sorrow which no
words could
describe,
Her lips pursed
trying to keep
her mind from
speaking.
Constantly
thinking just
when she should
say enough.
But she kept
holding on,
Surviving another
moment.

-HIY

The flower in the
wasteland exudes
life itself:
The physical
entity of
determination and
will to live.
Yes she may be
damaged from all
the toxic
surroundings.
And yes there
were times she
accepted her
weakness.
But she still
prevails.
Sprouting joy
despite all that.
She's special.
She's the flower
that survived.

-HIY