a flower once told me of its beauty:

stagnant, alive, vibrant and engulfing. 

it had said that its color was heavy, 

and the world was meant to keep it living. 

but then i met them. 

their face shouted despair into this world:

stagnant, alive, vibrant and engulfing. 

and i understood them without demands. 

color is heavy; the world wants their life. 

but then i met myself. 

and i took both sides: confidence and sadness. 

i am not stagnant, though i am alive. 

and i am vibrant but i will not engulf anything.

and color is heavy; but the world lives with or without me.