In a world full of roses, be a wilted petal.

Departing from its own body, it drifts toward the ground in a slow, crusading dance of beauty and loss. Shedding what once held it, it begins to rot and decay upon the bed of the earth.

I remind myself of that wilted petal — trying my damnedest to break free from the body I rot off of, shedding myself from what keeps me still.

Yet, as a wilted petal, I blow in the wind — traveling new places, seeing new things. As I walk away from the only thing that ever kept me stable, I venture into the vast unknown of beauty and wonder. The world calls my name. No longer am I just a wilted petal with no ambitions; I have dreams to chase, places to be.

But there comes a time when I settle again — into a soft bed of lush grass and fertile soil. And as I wilt, I think of all the things I did after I broke free from what weighed me down.

So in a world full of capture, be what’s seen as broken freedom

In a world full of roses, be a wilted petal.