"If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?"
No. I rarely trust that the wick's flame is lit, and the candle sits next to me.
When trying not to hide the light that is inside the fire becomes internal.
Externally, these flowers you speak of are experiencing a slow, pesticidal death. As it's beauty unwillingly pleases others.
The candle which burns it's roots was once a glimpse of hope.
Do not turn the lights on; let me cool the flame before the flowers disappear. May they continue to bloom with the lights off, and when I am ready I shall awaken in the midst of the meadows; accepting all that comes with it:
Even the thorns, yes, especially the thorns. Then, God willing, I will be able to trust once more.
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