I once grew a flower, its petals were warm and beautiful. But I grew anxious and feared creatures would eat and trample it, so I cut its roots and potted my flower. I took it out, not when it waved its petals to the sun Or dried its leaves, or through winter. Not even when its face drew close to the earthed pot. My flower was no longer beautiful. Dull and withered, it began to rot. Before my eyes, my flower was dying I couldn't understand why it wasn't blooming. I had kept it safe and cared for it well. But through it all, it was in torture.