why are wilting flowers metaphoric to us?
is it the slow painful descent to nothingness or the beauty of the smell that lingers in an otherwise thick air.
is it how it lost colour to age or that it withstands the windy days still.
is it how it crushes when i hold it tight or the last few breaths left of its old form.
is it the shriveled edges and dried insides or the timed escape from the window it sat by.