Pretty things

 They were so pretty when I held them in my hand. Delicate yet, resistant. Their petals were softly brushing against my skin, as their stem stood tall and firm in my palm. Beautifully calm. I wondered why I plucked them. Uprooting them from their home. Just for the mere temptation of beauty my eyes caught sight of? Beauty I wanted to trap in a vase? Beauty that shall die with every passing hour… Why? Maybe I wanted to know? How beauty felt? To trap and learn from these pretty things. To study and be their subject. To be the dying flower in my own glass jar.. Fleeting by the hour…


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s