the most beautiful flowers

the most beautiful flowers aren't the ones we receive from our lovers or the ones we buy on sunday mornings.
they aren't roses or daffodils, they aren't peonies or daisies.
they are the flowers that grow from within, the flowers you choose to nurture every now and then with love and affection. the flowers you planted when you had your first kiss or read your favourite poem,
when you saw a new face or left an old one,
when you flew across the country to see your loved ones, or left your home.
these are the ones that are so beautiful that when they blossom, the whole world can see their beauty from within.
each petal gives the world a glimpse of the person you are, it carries a story, even more so the ones that are withered and worn.
so the most beautiful flowers are the ones from within, the ones that are assembled in your bouquet of life.

"That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt."

It's 7am, I take my freshly brewed cup of tea and sit by the end of my bed, embracing my cup closer to my chest and taking in all the warmth through my fingers. As I slowly drift into my melancholic state of mind I look up to see the time as if I was running out of it and as if I was running away from it. Taking a few gulps of my warm beverage I make my way into my closet and prepare to get ready to somehow "seize" the day. 

It's 5pm, I take off my coat and boots and waltz through the kitchen, turn on the coffee machine and swing a cup into place. I take my cup of coffee, turn to the TV that I've switched on to keep me company and settle on the sofa that keeps me comfy.

It comes clear to me that mornings are the worst, the quiet sound of the day beginning is a daily reminder of all the thoughts that I can hear so loud.  Although a new day gives me a new slate for new memories and new ideas to be written, they drain me by dusk and I'm left every breaking of dawn with a glimpse of the life I lived and the days that have passed.
Every breaking dawn I sit by the end of my bed, reminiscing of better days, realising how and why life has turned out the way it has. I feel like the earth has somehow opened up and swallowed me inside, my life goes on but I am not living. The world revolves around a star and seasons change but I still find myself unable to move forward from my warm mugs and solitude. I have not become numb to it all, I have simply succumbed to the truth that there is no change. 

This monotonous routine of something called life drags me down and gravity is heavier than ever. 

Mind is officially blown.