Brave Flowers & Broken Wings

4. I did something bad

There is a tree that sits in the middle of a forest, far beyond the ocean bed and across all mountains, surrounded by the most colossal trees with their branches intertwined into each other, shielding the fragile magnificence and enchantment that grew in the middle from escaping over when the sun was at its pinnacle. It is alabaster in all its purity and as spotless as the soul of the innocent. It has never been touched nor has it ever been seen by the human eye. Its tiny petal like leaves never falls to the ground and it continues to bloom even through the harshest of winters. Still resembling the heart of splendour, the only tree of its kind, blooming throughout the years and aging nothing like everything else, easily remaining the boldest attraction of the forest-mythical, untainted and everlasting.

However, it all changes when the feel from the tiniest drop of blood on its leaves. They all would stain red, and just like poison, its branches would shrivel and crumble to the ground withering all the other flowers and trees of the forest.

What happens when you let one thing sip into the pores of your skin, letting just one word wreak a wound, cutting past flesh and tissue forcing you to bleed out? Just like that tree; perfect and enchanting, you are just as fragile a soul and so you begin to wither and die inside too. You begin to question your judgment, your beauty, your sense of worth in this world and to others and the morals and beliefs you always stood for. You let yourself hurt consistently so much it begins to reflect above the surface and along your face also releasing something lethal into the world of others you share your space with. Like a disease your ability to withstand or block adverse thoughts that consume your thoughts are lowered, dwindling to trickle and then allowing it to take up a life of its own. The blues start to become you and everyone around you begin to feel what you feel without even wanting to, and all livelihood that was you surrounds you and crumbles. You unintentionally exhale a plague initially passed on to you thus continuing an infinite cycle leaving the next strain deadlier than the last.

Humanity should have been more humane but it never was especially when you all had found ways to divide yourselves into ridiculous subsets all their lives.

Seasons are equivalent to that of feelings because they all change the same and vary alike. You feel like the seasons, you feel their differences, you know when the change is coming and you can tell when it is already there. Like spring, it is a season much like the renewal of things just in time for a new year to start yourself off on the right path you so ever choose. Summer falls not to long after opening your heart for zesty love that may burn inside your heart and that of someone else. If you are lucky enough, it just may burn eternally in the both of you. Autumn, oh how I loved autumn, so bright and beautiful, allowing yourself to shed your skin of loves and old habits just as the leaves did every year around this time. Then came winter, the last but not my least favourite, it also was not the best but maybe mentioned last because it was best. It is the coldest, most bitter time reserved for self-realization possibly leaving you with that wintry feel in your heart. You give in and just may not survive come the next spring.

The cold was never for everyone, your face goes pale much like your sense of reasoning, your thinking and focus fades, your hands begin to lose grip for things like your feelings begin to forget the things that once meant something to you, and just as your face and whole body possibly freezes, so does your heart. I begged the winter to be good to you but who am I kidding, winter knew no better.

It was all in the transition of the leaves and how breath taking it was to be a witness to the change in the colours. But at what cost, and to whom or to what? Winter was always heavenly and it still is, always been the attraction; pure white across fields and atop cold, crippled and bare branches and everything else as the sky is fully cascaded in grey. What happens now to flowers covered in snow, or animals who must migrate away from lands to hibernate because it's too cold-they all hide.