The wind and rain come too quickly and cannot wait for nature to wither. Now lying in the mud, I can still clearly see the traces of the flow towards the sun that once existed in the veins. Destruction is the unfinished bloom; it is the pause button forced by time.
Why be obsessed with perfect blooming? Broken Flowers has the philosophy of Broken Flowers - it uses its broken outlines to teach us how precious it is to be complete; it uses its silent withering to tell how passionately it once lived.
Don't feel sorry for me. Maximum prosperity and decline are the fairest laws of heaven and earth. I have seen the bluest sky, kissed the clearest dew, and breathed out all the fragrance surrounded by the most attentive bees and butterflies. The incompleteness at this moment is the last imperfect poem I wrote to the world.
The petals are broken, but the fragrance still lives in the wind; the form is broken, but the soul has formed seeds. The so-called "disability" is just that life has changed into a more silent and powerful posture, deep in the soil, brewing the next spring to break out of the ground.
I prefer dead flowers to full bloom. It breaks away from the mission of "viewing" and finally belongs to oneself. Every fold is a story, every missing corner is a private negotiation with wind and rain. Beauty reaches its peak in the perfect place, but the soul is born in the incomplete place.
Purpose: Inspirational
Liuli Lock