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  • Grace Wayne

The Allure of a Fallen Flower

Laid motionless on the ground,

cut from my life source,

on the brink of beauty’s end.

Where there was once the promise of growth,

now there is only me.

You come across me,

though I don’t have long left,

the decay hasn’t begun to show.

You pick me up and put me in your pocket,

touched by my fleeting beauty.

You promised to never interfere with nature,

but nature has interfered with me.

Put me in some water,

press me in a book,

pluck my petals out to make perfume.

Rebirth me, preserve me. 

Intervene the will of the world,

bend me into something new,

prevent the fate I’d long since accepted.

Steal my peace away from me.

There is no inevitable left to deny; The passion has long since disappeared. All that’s left is space. Where there was once beauty and rage, now there is only me. I sleep through the days, then wander at night, wander until I forget my name, wander until I forget who named me. When my stomach gets too loud, I’ll go to a 24-hour diner. Cheap and easy food is enough to satisfy me. As I sip my coffee and chew on the burnt cherry pie, I realise that I am the only girl in the world. In my isolation, I feel no bitterness. There is no one for me to wait for. No missed calls; No obligations; No promises to break; No apologies to make. I am at one with my surroundings, melted into my chair, we are one. No discontent, no desire to change. A blank canvas, happily void of art. 

The hours go by like minutes…this is the life! A tap on my shoulder, I am asked if I’d like a refill. I shake my head, no longer fuelled by a desire to consume. I take what I need and leave the rest behind. A moment later, I leave, feeling the ground move beneath me, I am overcome with gratitude. With the cold southern air on my skin, I forget I have a body. Once so desperate for beauty, I know now that it was never for my benefit. The world treats you kinder when you submit, allow yourself to be remoulded in someone else’s image. Well, now I am something the world hasn’t seen before; a girl without a body, a girl without a mind. 

I take my seat on the ground, staring out at the vastness of the world. I must correct my earlier statement, this world never attempted to change me. It was its inhabitants. My perspective of their perspective of me would plague my mind, leaving me vulnerable and sick. Now, free of any perspective, I know that this world is beautiful. I am part of this world; this world is part of me. 

The sun is rising, I wonder if I will ever go back to my life before. Perhaps I’ll snap back to reality, I’ll refer to this as a ‘strange point in my life’. Perhaps I won’t, this strange point could be my life forever. Either way, I will be content. It will be my choice and my choice alone. No one is coming to save me; my hand can no longer be tied, or forced, or any other metaphor we use to fictionalise our struggles. There is no romance in struggling, no pleasure in intellectualising my pain. I now have no room for intelligence, or romance, or pain. I have cured myself of the human condition. I am free.  


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