But once, she was a daisy. Brilliant white petals surrounding a golden center. Alive. Delicate. Everyone smiled as she grew and she thrived to see their grinning faces. She lived to please them.
Soon, everyone's plucking away at her petals, as she willingly gives them every part of her.
"He loves me."
Slowly killing her.
"He loves me not."
She's dying while trying to fulfill everyone's needs.
Soon, she's hardened. Tears melt behind her eyes and are forever stained on her once-warm, once-thumping heart. She is blunted. Way past that of mellow because at least then, she'd feel something. At least then, she'd be able to feel the difference. What is happy? What does it mean when it is at the expense of another's happiness? What is her happiness? What is her soul in this hopeless dwelling, but a floating force, feigning existence?
Where is her happy?
Sweet precious flower, please come back to life.
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