Blossom

To blossom, to thrive, to produce.     Not only is that the expectation for plants, that’s also the expectation for humans. To produce results. To produce output. To produce work. Otherwise, you feel guilty, unsatisfied, empty. When did that shift even happen? The shift when the measurement for fulfillment became productivity. She thought as she stood there, staring.

It was autumn, and the rows of chrysanthemums spread across the field like a wildfire. She meant to pick a few to brighten up her home, but as she stretched out her hand to pluck off the most beautiful one, she quickly withdrew it, because to pick it would be like killing it, ending its life right then and there. ‘Never mind, I’ll let it live out its last beauty’ she sighed.

“Why didn’t you pick that one?” a soft voice coming from behind her questioned.

“Would you kill someone right at the prime of their life?” she challenged, as she started to walk away.

Okay, maybe she had been a little rude. She’ll make it up with a smile. So she turned around for a quick smile, but he had already caught up with her.

“What do you mean?”

“Bruh…I don’t know.”

But she did know. Why couldn’t she be left alone to live out her beauty, she had meant.

Yet a wish is merely a wish. And like all wishes, it won’t be that special once she actually has it at her disposal. C’est la vie, she thought, as she went back to work, trying to produce results.

Maybe she should just think of productivity as blossoming, that’d make it sound more intriguing. Living out her beauty. Living out the best of her. Living out her best life. Thriving.

Blossom

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