flowers don’t need to care if we think they’re pretty. they don’t require validation or even admiration. they have nothing holding them up but the root system under their marrow. once the stem is too weak to speak for them anymore, they prepare for death. we are only as capable as the meaningless we deem worthy. we are only individual in the ways that will never matter. if we could resume life in the way that flowers do, maybe we could find some closure in the lack of control we call home.