The flower

The flower kept asking if she was beautiful. If she was qualified as important to others, if she was needed. If the life of her matters.

There remained a silence, because no one would ever answer her questions. Because no one knew. No one heard. No one really cared.
The flower was beautiful. She was strong, even though she had a fragile body. She was meaningful - her ability was to cure others.
But she never knew.
She never knew what is she capable of. The reason was - she never tried. She never asked her questions loudly.
And no one thought that she is unhappy in her silence.
Because she seemed way too beautiful to be in that way - too caring, too gentle. Too bright. She was a little sunshine that is too positive to cry.
But she cried. The rain washed it away, so no one knew. 
She never tried.
They never asked.

Jurgita K.

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