Love in Vases

Love to me is like a flower; beautiful and free as it blooms and then over time it slowly dies. Everyone would like to think they can tame it’s beauty as they cut it from it’s undomesticated, home dwelling place, and then jam it in a vase to call their own. But in reality as soon as the blade has touched it’s covering, all hope is lost, for flowers do not belong in vases but rather in the soil. True love exists in its natural environment. The love I have come to know, soil doesn’t exist. Soil with rich nutrients is far from real. The earth I have seen is often times so dry and cracked no flower could ever survive. And when it rains, it pours. So much in fact that it floods and drowns the hope that the flower clung to for survival. You see, the kind of love I know, is the kind that comes in vases. They are beautiful as they sit in front of you, but looks are deceiving because there is no soil at the bottom of that vase to help that love grow any further. For this reason I have planted myself like a flower. Planted myself in an open field far from the hands that reach for any beauty I may possess. I hide myself amongst the weeds so as to not be seen by those that would like to have me in their grasp. I know I do not compete amongst several of the flowers but loveliness of that sort does not concern me. What concerns me is never letting those hands try and tame me. I want nothing to do with this love. For someone to say I love you is a powerful thing. I have seen so many say those three words and then shrivel and wilt like a dying flower just after. How can this be? To me this love only lasts for a time. It is temporary. I am not interested in provisional love, which is why it would be better for me to not experience it at all. Would it not be better to never have loved than to love and be so hurt you slowly wilt away like a flower? I have come to think so.