The flower had died two days ago, but Merlyn wasn’t surprised. After all, she had basically drowned it one day and baked it to a crisp the next.
Good, she thought evilly. Very good practice to finally becoming a professional supervillain.
That is, until she got enough of killing flowers.
she was wilting under her parents’ strict rules, not allowed to contact him in any way. she was kept in her room, listlessly staring at the wall, not moving, not speaking. “how long can i endure this pain?” she thought. “as long as my love never dies. forever”
The flowers in the window. My life without her. We are both slowly dying, suffering endlessly. I am thirsty, just as the flowers are thirsty. Unless we get our thirsts quenched, I am afraid we will decompose to sheer nothingness.
Winter always made me happy. It wasn’t all about the death and dying, the wilting flowers, the barren trees. To me, it signified the cold, hard reality that I was glad to be a part of. Being aware of death always gives one a bit more appreciation of life, but few realize that each year’s ‘death season’ so to speak is the only reason we celebrate the flowers blooming into one of life’s beautiful things.
The flowers on the grass were wilting, representing what I felt inside. Everything around me seemed to mock me. I couldn’t escape the feeling. I’ve never felt so dead. Just like the flowers.
As I walked down the street, I saw every flower wilting. It felt as if it mocked me, representing what I feel inside. They were brown, crunchy, and on the floor completely shattered. Just like me. It was unescapable.
The humidity this month has been extreme. I can relate the flowers that are wilting in the vase by the window. They look like I feel. If I don’t get a break from this unrelenting damp I don’t think I will ever get anything done. I can’t think. I don’t want to move. How do people in India ever accomplish anything.
I could turn on the air conditioning and suck the environment dry but then I am left with a dry environment, almost as enervating as the wilting sensation caused by this damn humidity.
I have to shake it off, write, move anyway. I am stronger than this. I can do it. I can overcome this malaise and regain my life. And, as the good book says, “and this too shall pass.” Soon, Autumn will be here and the flowers will be wilting for real but I will be energized and alive again.
Mostly in summer, but sometimes in winter, too. I often feel this way after my evening walk. They lied to me. They said exercise is exhilarating and that it works as an anti-depressant. It leaves me wilting instead. This is not fair, but then life and nature are not fair, are they? The flowers wilt too, but only when they’ve wilted can something new bloom.
Dead hair falling out, crooked posture, and pale color taking over her brown color. She just needed a vase of radiation and chemotherapy to bring her back.
She was wilting in the heat. She could feel the crisp linen of her dress growing damp and limp. Her hair was drooping out of its perfect curls and when she blinked, her mascara-coated lashes stuck together in clumps.
A plant grows in a field, stretching to encourage the sun to stretch back. But the season at hand is waning in attention giving. The sky is dappled with clouds so the sun rarely sees past the obstacles to the foundation below waiting below for their daily time in life-preserving rays. Despite the light seeping though, the plant is now wilting. The clouds are too busy looking up at the sun to do more than an absent minded sprinkle, leaving it wards below left to scramble for the tiny bits of nourishment accidentally shed. Instead, the clouds stare up wondering why the sun continues to shine above them as they do what clouds are meant to do. Without warning, the clouds begin to clash and bubble with anger, flooding the ground below and drowning the innocent with sheets of rain. The wilting flower still fights for life, hopes for purpose, struggles to survive in the onslaught. The wind passes by overhead, but the plant is spared; too tiny to be of interest to anyone just passing through. The tiny reprieve gives the plant something to grow with at last. The sun streaming down while the clouds are out of the way, offered the plant nourishment with time to revive her once lush green leaves and allowing her to blossom in the moment. The fragrance drew deer for a snack, taunted by her flowers bursting with flavor and vitamins. But a ground hog wallowed below blocking full access; its long toenails puncturing below the soil to scrape the tender roots at the surface. It gnaws on once vital junctures and leaves them hanging and exposed for the plant to deal with on its own before lumbering on its way to poke at something else. The deer nibble on the tops, enjoying some of the flowers’ sweet delights. But the light and rain shift again, and the interested wanders off, plant forgotten and unneeded again. Shedding the damaged branches keep infection away weakening her, but in time the shed parts of herself strengthen her. She holds so much to offer, untended and surviving despite the odds. Elemental neglect can leave her flavor bitter when a bite is dared, but the flowers left behind can go to seed, offering some hope for the future in rebirth and the hope of better journeys still to come.
wilting i flicked down through the cards at the end of my bed I wasn’t sure what to do with them get well soon and best wishes. I’m not sure that these people understand whats wrong or whats happening to me . Not that the doctors do , all they know is that it’s not reversible . I am grateful that I’ve got cards at least I’ve got people who are bothered to send them and a few that will call in , not that i can see them . I never even contemplated how strange sound alone is.
wilting down through the cards at the end of my bed I wasn’t sure what to do with them get well soon and best wishes. I’m not sure that these people understand whats wrong or whats happening to me . Not that the doctors do , all they know is that it’s not reversible . I am grateful that I’ve got cards at least I’ve got people who are bothered to send them and a few that will call in , not that i can see them . I never even contemplated how strange sound alone is.
The flower had died two days ago, but Merlyn wasn’t surprised. After all, she had basically drowned it one day and baked it to a crisp the next.
Good, she thought evilly. Very good practice to finally becoming a professional supervillain.
That is, until she got enough of killing flowers.
wilting, adică a se veştezi, i s-a veştezit privirea, veştezit braţele, fruntele, florile, buzele, pielea, a îmbătrîni, a se ofili.
she was wilting under her parents’ strict rules, not allowed to contact him in any way. she was kept in her room, listlessly staring at the wall, not moving, not speaking. “how long can i endure this pain?” she thought. “as long as my love never dies. forever”
The flowers in the window. My life without her. We are both slowly dying, suffering endlessly. I am thirsty, just as the flowers are thirsty. Unless we get our thirsts quenched, I am afraid we will decompose to sheer nothingness.
Winter always made me happy. It wasn’t all about the death and dying, the wilting flowers, the barren trees. To me, it signified the cold, hard reality that I was glad to be a part of. Being aware of death always gives one a bit more appreciation of life, but few realize that each year’s ‘death season’ so to speak is the only reason we celebrate the flowers blooming into one of life’s beautiful things.
The flowers on the grass were wilting, representing what I felt inside. Everything around me seemed to mock me. I couldn’t escape the feeling. I’ve never felt so dead. Just like the flowers.
As I walked down the street, I saw every flower wilting. It felt as if it mocked me, representing what I feel inside. They were brown, crunchy, and on the floor completely shattered. Just like me. It was unescapable.
The humidity this month has been extreme. I can relate the flowers that are wilting in the vase by the window. They look like I feel. If I don’t get a break from this unrelenting damp I don’t think I will ever get anything done. I can’t think. I don’t want to move. How do people in India ever accomplish anything.
I could turn on the air conditioning and suck the environment dry but then I am left with a dry environment, almost as enervating as the wilting sensation caused by this damn humidity.
I have to shake it off, write, move anyway. I am stronger than this. I can do it. I can overcome this malaise and regain my life. And, as the good book says, “and this too shall pass.” Soon, Autumn will be here and the flowers will be wilting for real but I will be energized and alive again.
Today is a long hard day. I am wilting. So many things to be settled. It’s like walking in the rope while holding so many things.
how favored
do you think we really are?
humans should not
have stems for spines
petals for skin
so easy to tear
so easy to rip from the soil
and topple
god gave us teeth
without the venom
and even flowers
do not feel the sting of bees.
Mostly in summer, but sometimes in winter, too. I often feel this way after my evening walk. They lied to me. They said exercise is exhilarating and that it works as an anti-depressant. It leaves me wilting instead. This is not fair, but then life and nature are not fair, are they? The flowers wilt too, but only when they’ve wilted can something new bloom.
Dead hair falling out, crooked posture, and pale color taking over her brown color. She just needed a vase of radiation and chemotherapy to bring her back.
She was wilting in the heat. She could feel the crisp linen of her dress growing damp and limp. Her hair was drooping out of its perfect curls and when she blinked, her mascara-coated lashes stuck together in clumps.
A plant grows in a field, stretching to encourage the sun to stretch back. But the season at hand is waning in attention giving. The sky is dappled with clouds so the sun rarely sees past the obstacles to the foundation below waiting below for their daily time in life-preserving rays. Despite the light seeping though, the plant is now wilting. The clouds are too busy looking up at the sun to do more than an absent minded sprinkle, leaving it wards below left to scramble for the tiny bits of nourishment accidentally shed. Instead, the clouds stare up wondering why the sun continues to shine above them as they do what clouds are meant to do. Without warning, the clouds begin to clash and bubble with anger, flooding the ground below and drowning the innocent with sheets of rain. The wilting flower still fights for life, hopes for purpose, struggles to survive in the onslaught. The wind passes by overhead, but the plant is spared; too tiny to be of interest to anyone just passing through. The tiny reprieve gives the plant something to grow with at last. The sun streaming down while the clouds are out of the way, offered the plant nourishment with time to revive her once lush green leaves and allowing her to blossom in the moment. The fragrance drew deer for a snack, taunted by her flowers bursting with flavor and vitamins. But a ground hog wallowed below blocking full access; its long toenails puncturing below the soil to scrape the tender roots at the surface. It gnaws on once vital junctures and leaves them hanging and exposed for the plant to deal with on its own before lumbering on its way to poke at something else. The deer nibble on the tops, enjoying some of the flowers’ sweet delights. But the light and rain shift again, and the interested wanders off, plant forgotten and unneeded again. Shedding the damaged branches keep infection away weakening her, but in time the shed parts of herself strengthen her. She holds so much to offer, untended and surviving despite the odds. Elemental neglect can leave her flavor bitter when a bite is dared, but the flowers left behind can go to seed, offering some hope for the future in rebirth and the hope of better journeys still to come.
wilting i flicked down through the cards at the end of my bed I wasn’t sure what to do with them get well soon and best wishes. I’m not sure that these people understand whats wrong or whats happening to me . Not that the doctors do , all they know is that it’s not reversible . I am grateful that I’ve got cards at least I’ve got people who are bothered to send them and a few that will call in , not that i can see them . I never even contemplated how strange sound alone is.
wilting down through the cards at the end of my bed I wasn’t sure what to do with them get well soon and best wishes. I’m not sure that these people understand whats wrong or whats happening to me . Not that the doctors do , all they know is that it’s not reversible . I am grateful that I’ve got cards at least I’ve got people who are bothered to send them and a few that will call in , not that i can see them . I never even contemplated how strange sound alone is.