There’s a flower. It is remarkably beautiful, its petals glow and it seems always to be sprinkled in dew that twinkles like diamonds. It is delicate and robust at the same time, and its beauty is cleansing.
There’s a group of people gathered around the flower. They admire and love the flower with full and open hearts, recklessly, and their lives are full of love and serenity and joy. In their love for the flower, they also love each other and take delight in one another’s company.
Then one day, the flower falls ill. It begins to wilt, and its petals drop to the ground one by one. Ice slivers of fear puncture the internal organs of the lovers of the flower, and a storm of grief gathers in anticipatory inevitability. The people do everything they can to try and save the flower, and they cling to one another desperately as they pour out care upon the ailing bloom.
Despite all of their efforts, the flower dies. A toxic grief settles itself in the entrails of each of the people who loved and cared for the flower. The root of their love gone, they are cut loose from one another. They can no longer stand to be together; the memory and the grief are too much. They are torn apart and scattered to the winds.