Flower in the rain

I was walking alone in a driving rain.

My life as miserable as the tears flowing in through the hole in my shoe.

I spied a flower, drooping desperately under the deluge.

Did I just happen to stroll by and see it there?

Or did the flower call to me from far away?

Were our destinies intertwined, this flower and I?

The rain poured down my face.

I stood in awe of the beauty of the creation I beheld.

Enthralled by the intricate complexity.

Enraptured by the simplicity.

Intrigued by the danger that lie coiled down inside of this flower in the rain.

I felt a deep loss for the flower as the realization dawned that this flower in the rain could not survive.

The storm raged on inside.

I cupped the flower in my hand and beheld it's beauty, if only for the fleeting moment.

I loved the flower with all of my soul.

I willed my life to the flower in the palm of my hand, that it might live, even though I die.

With one final carress I tenderly held the flower to my heart.

And got impaled on the bloody thorns.

I crushed the evil flower and threw it into the gutter where it disintegrated in the mud, and washed down the drain.

I hate flowers.

I hate the rain.

I hate myself.

I hate the pain.

I was walking alone in a driving rain.