I know why flowers are beautiful: because anything that gives of itself becomes beautiful. Not only to our eyes, or a bee’s, but in solemn truth. We who find ourselves crippled, unwhole, unable to give with any constancy, fearing to lose ourselves (though there is no other way to be healed), see in the flower not only the symbol, but the reality, of what we lack. But everyone who has seen a certain light in another person’s eyes can say (with e.e. cummings) he has seen something like a rose, only far far deeper and more precious.

(cdm | SoLikeARose)