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Is the destination worth the desperation?

Why is it that we nurture and care for flowers with an aching sense of gentleness, watching them sprout and develop leaves, only to begin budding and finally bloom?

 

Why is it that the journey to maturity for a flower is more grueling than it's actual destination?

 

Why is it that once a flower reaches its full potential it begins to shed its petals, leaving itself naked to the harsh, fluctuating world?

 


Why is it?

 


Why?






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