They all dream of roses and tulips handed to them or scattered on the floor, either way, they want it all. But I? I refuse to take a single stem, for I fear to see it become flaccid on my hand. Why deprive the poor thing of what it truly deserves? Why cut the stem when you know it’ll hurt? I am content to appreciate it from afar. But believe me when I say that I will choose to gaze at it constantly, my eyes will only see its beauty. If the wilting season is near, I will still be here. And when it finally dies, I have already closed my eyes.