My, you are something to behold.
You delicate little thing. Sweet colors. Soft flowers sprouting from your darling head. Whimsical, you know? Magic, almost. Lovely. Dainty. Dreamlike. Has anyone ever told you that? Oh, who’s going to take care of you, out here all alone. The likes of you certainly shouldn’t be all alone…
Just one moment. What is that? A strange thing you’re emitting. What I mistook for demure silence is actually… Is that pride? Yes, look at you, wearing your own flesh with vitality, audaciously displaying all of your resplendent radiance. How strange, almost like there’s strength beneath all that scrumptious skin.
But that won’t do. Not for a pretty thing like you. That sort of self-assuredness is unbecoming. Let us see how we can amend you. We’ll rip you up, I think. Watch you wither. Take you down a notch or two. That will surely do you some good.
I’ve cut you down, tore you limb from limb, I’ve deprived you now. You’ve grown callous, I see. Where once you had roots, spreading wild and free, you now have only a hardened shell. But why haven’t you wilted?
I asked about you. They call you difficult to kill, you thick skinned, renegade. Who knew. Perhaps, I can break you still….
So you’ve proven it to be so. You are no victim to circumstance. I should be quite dazzled but I only resent this of you. Perhaps because your existence is a metaphor for everything that I hope to be and am too jaded to become. I fear what I have done to you too much to be one like you.
Yet, here you stand, in the uninhabitable, shouting “Watch me thrive!” Despite my efforts you are more beautiful than before. And that strength, that troublesome resilience (how perverse!) has spread. Each and every piece that I took from you has bloomed into lovely little survivors too.
My, you are something to behold.
