Forsaken, left to sit alone in a corner of an empty room,
left to remain unmoved, untouched. Like a flower in a locked
garden, she awaits for someone to pick her up. She waits in
vain.
Forsaken, doomed to spend eternity in ignorance of anything
worth knowing, of anything meaningful, of anything real. A
flower unaware of its own beauty, of the way a man will
admire its colors, and kneel to smell its scent, if only he
was able to.
Forsaken, crawled up and crying, though she cannot
understand why. Something is missing, she feels, something
is not right. As whence wind is blowing through the soft,
green grass, making a flower bend low, close to the ground,
trying to save its leaves.
Forsaken, darkness consumes her last shred of hope, despair
murders her final breath. But she remains still, unable to
leave this world, trapped in her cruel fate, in a twisted
joke, made by the gods, or whoever it is that watches time
passing by. Tasting the sunlight and cannot feel its warmth.
A flower in a locked garden, she is, blooming, while nobody
knows.