For some time now I live believing that there is something so beautiful about flowers on the roadside. They are not the flowers that are groomed for complex decorations. They wither easily. Sometimes they live, unnoticed. And sometimes they die, just like how they first existed, unnoticed. Why they chose to live on the roadside, where oftentimes the conditions are unfriendly, I have no idea.
But these blooms seem to me the happiest of all. They are unpretentious. They are simple. And they are the types that are hardly imitated by flower manufacturers, and therefore their beauty is unexploited. They do not expect anything. They only exist in their real state- the natural, living state.
You have to stop on your tracks to really see them.
I often have a hard time distinguishing a fake flower from a real one. And distinguishing real people from phony ones.
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