The Sad Truth of a Flower

The love a young child has for a flower, is unusual to what most consider “true love”. It's not brotherly love, or romantical love, but the love for something beautiful; the desire to pick it, and have it be your own forever. The sad truth is that no flower lasts; they barely survive a few weeks not to mention forever. As soon as the flower is plucked, it's beauty fades and the child loves it no more, tossing it out with yesterday's rubbish. There is something to be said about the life such a flower leads; killed out of love, only for the lover to realise its subject’s close demise and proceed onward without a second thought. I believe that the flower doesn't mind. I don't think I would mind. To be loved and then forgotten can be better then never being loved; living slightly longer just to die of natural causes all on your own. Out of the two, can there be a better choice?